by Donal Mahoney
Two evenings a week
I go to Melissa’s,
to talk and to fuck.
We talk first,
we fuck later.
Summer, fall,
winter, spring,
nothing distracts us.
We are to each other now
what we were at the start:
someone to talk to,
someone to fuck.
September 14, 2009
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
Blog Archive
-
►
2010
(222)
-
►
August
(26)
- if there's any irony to be culled at this point in...
- The Couple Fighting In Front Of The Box Office Ul...
- Internet
- some more truth
- Delusions
- Fallen
- within five minutes of entering the supermarket
- at the community picnic
- The Rancid Rooms of Montreal
- Items of Amorous Intent
- What a Man Needs
- Nine In the Morning
- Cruel Summer
- Fran’s Building
- Summer
- The Age of Sail
- Shark Week
- FRESH MORNING COFFEE
- Gateway
- Elegy
- A Guided Tour of Hell
- In the bottom of some hour
- Your Eyes Are The Saddest Cowboy Lament
- Skipping Rosetta Stones Across the Backs of the Ag...
- Homesickness
- Namesake (For My Grandfather)
-
►
August
(26)
-
▼
2009
(485)
-
▼
September
(31)
- Name-checking Billy F***in Collins
- subject to availability at selected stores
- An Irish Enclave
- an afternoon
- dusty villa and a few cans of beer
- gritty plaza rainbow
- Open Book
- I’ll Paint You in Words
- what we’ve been doing with ourselves
- RIPE
- MOONLIGHT NIGHT: WINTER
- kathleen turner
- untitled grief on a september afternoon
- Parking Lot
- the broken stripper
- Public Restroom
- Bringin' Home the Bacon
- Only Darkening
- Someone to Talk to
- Girl Cuffed
- Poems Like Jackson Mac Low
- The Media Is The Message
- WHY I DON’T FUCK MY WIFE ANYMORE
- with friends like me...
- MY AFTERNOONS WITH DYLAN THOMAS
- The Neighbor’s Daughter
- It’s a Good Night for Drinking
- plan b
- WATCHING TV
- IN THE END
- Dirty Librarian
-
▼
September
(31)
0 comments:
Post a Comment