Poetry Vending Machine

Poetry is not easy–especially when you are scrambling to get your thoughts out or your feelings are so stuck inside your gut that you can’t wrestle them loose. I have never seen one of these types of vending machines, but I have tossed the idea around in my head for some time, and when you have a terrible misunderstanding with someone you love, you have to try everything you can think of to make things right.

Over the past few days I have been struggling with this poem, and so, in my mind, I put the four quarters in the vending machine, pressed the “Special Case Poem,” button, and here is what came out:

The Joining of Our Lips

The time passes, but slowly,
And with considerable thickness
Is my tongue when I attempt to speak.
There is no remedy for my affliction;
No gentle caress to ease the burden
I now carry along this stony path.
There is none but yours to that end,
And yours is naught.

Would that I could see
In the mind’s eye of tomorrow,
The soft glimmer of light
Reflecting in your eyes
As it once danced before me.
How painfully evident it is
That without you, I am but half
The being I am with you;

How difficult it is
To lie down and have peace,
Without your sweet embrace–
Without the limp sensation
Of your skin touching mine.

But you would hold me at arm’s length
And bid me come no closer.
You would put walls and therefore
Miles between us.
You would let me die
Behind the walls,
Alone and miles away,
And I would die, but for the beast
Behind me–a ferocious beast
With eyes of hatred, born of fear.

Dreams are but momentary stays
Against the relentless throbbing of
My pulse in waking hours–
A pause amidst the endless rush
Of the tide of my heart’s longings–
The very essence of desire.

Speak to me, but with words that
Crush not the subtle hues of anticipation;
Stand before me, but not as the beast
Who looms over the lowly creatures of the night;
Embrace me, but not as one who might seek
Recompense for such a tender gesture.

For in these things, you will find me
Likewise requite, and with increasing degrees,
More gentle as gentleness becomes our mutual desire;
More tender as tenderness becomes our breath,
Breathed as one in the joining of our lips.

© April 2012 by JJHIII