Infat-you-ation

I present to you my latest endeavor at writing poetry. I also present to you a photo of a wine bottle that I will cherish, as it is the first bottle of wine any lecturer of mine has ever shared with me.


Infat-you-ation

It is Saturday night and I 
am in love. 
The way he utters
words
I have waited to hear, 
words
I have wanted to know,
before I knew I wanted
to hear them 

It is Saturday night and I 
am in love. 
He reveals
his scarred, wretched faultlines
his aching self, to my 
scarred, wretched faultlines
my aching self


It is Saturday night and I 
am in love. 
Your cigarette stained fingers 
touch
my cigarette stained lips. 


It is Saturday night and I 
am in love. And these roads
rivers 
paths 
days 
hours 
have led me
to you.

At the end of this poem, you will most likely ponder who is the lucky (or unlucky) lad I seem to be fixated on. 

This poem is inspired by Sharon Olds' poetry alongside Peter Goldsworthy's poetry. There is something about the dark tone and blunt expression of these two poets that I find so candid and yet mysterious all at once. This poem is my attempt at channeling the two poets simultaneously with an infusion of my own hazy bursts of images from recent experiences and a yearning for someone.

I am in love with these poets.
But I am not in love.
Neither am I a real poet.