A Dream Not Tasted

Let me see your beauty when the witnesses are gone
Let me feel you moving like they do in Babylon.
Dance Me To The End of Love.      Leonard Cohen

When I was young, you were a dream not tasted.
Now you rest here thin and savory
with hair so fine it flies and skin so smooth
that marble cracks from envy.  Those eyes. Those eyes.

I long to love again as I once loved.  To love
so longitudinal, protracted and intuitive that self
fuses into self and magic wraps the sweating soul
in twisted sheets.  I want to look again
on sleeping face and know the triumph of the body.

Well.  Well.  I stroke your cheek.
Lines etch my forehead, and my face
is scored by age.  Veins protrude
from arms and hands, and fingers bend
in pain from winter.  So,
I tell you only what I know:
I am dead,
and I lie.

2 thoughts on “A Dream Not Tasted

  1. HB:

    I must be obtuse. I don’t see a lie but only getting old. Are you just feeling sorry for yourself?
    By the way, you quoted from Vivian’s favorite song.

  2. This is beautiful! I love “skin so smooth/that marble cracks from envy.” You could’ve stolen this from Catullus, which is, of course, a compliment! The second stanza is powerful the way it conveys the memory of young, passionate physicality, only the best and most beautiful aspects–the things we forge these memories from. You get into everyone and anyone’s head and pull out the same memory and the same feeling (I think…I think this makes you a damn poet! ;-)) And even though the last line expresses the thought of the moment, and a mourning of loss, there is still an overriding grace of acceptance. The poem is expressive of all this without being self-pitying. I
    DIG it!

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