poetry critical

online poetry workshop

Lucy, Dylan, and Me

I dreamed of her once
On opposite ends of my bed
In a bare room we sat
Sitting naked and cross legged
Small breasts and skeletal diaphragm
Expanding with inhalation
Falling down in quiet exhale
Radiating not sexuality, merely humanity
In that brilliant mind of hers
What was happening?
She was lifted in cosmic chaos
Worlds were being created
Moons were forming
Stars were dying
How could all this fit
On my small bed?
She read me a poem before puberty
She made me shy away from her beauty
Remembering not a single verse
I asked her if she still wrote
She did not reply
She makes love to Dylan
My friend, mentor
Platonic lover of man
Disembodied poet, who sings to us
I questioned if she loved Dylan
She did not reply
From time to time
We make awkward eye contact
If it suits her she smiles
I wondered if she loved me
She did not reply
Drunk on a beach with Dylan
We talked about humanism
Entered the pneumatic realm
I demanded to know if she loved anything
She never replies

21 Aug 08

Rated 10 (10) by 1 users.
Active (1):
Inactive (0):

(define the words in this poem)

(3 users consider this poem a favorite)

Add A Comment:
Enter the following text to post as unknown: captcha


this is beautiful, and i love it so much.
 — Dinosauraus

It was me made love to bobby, and yes i do love him
 — OKcomputer

 — larrylark