64 on this side

shadows are the toys
in the subconscious mind
I'm sifting through mine
looking for a wooden souvenir

all the lost kisses
those fiery young tongues
wrapping wet around this
64 Gb memory stick

there are many shades
to the darkness many versions
of the fuck one's tastes
change a little over time

the shadows hide the actual
features which is which don't you
remember her breasts her flesh
in your hands

its hard to replay the reasons
so often nothing more than opportunity
so often a mistake no matter the
secret orgasms in the fetal night

its hard to simply reduce
the gift to zygotic survival
even though I've dismissed
all meaning from these tropes

surely being is more than this
or am I just a slackjawed romantic
bartering old pleasures for one
more round on the Lady

Will She raise her skirts for me
this time? She wears white as in
the coda of Bob Fosse's onscreen
life the playful veil Her tease

I have chopped down the tree
a thousand times and still I grasp
the axe and eye the leaves beginning
another season of stems and seeds

is it memory or are there notions
of value playing backgammon in
the next room the other player
offering me the doubling cube

and in these shadows
I no longer see fortunes acquired
the play of light and darkness
becomes a sort of casual beauty