nutter love poem

writng you makes me feel
as if you're already gone.
the silence-studied, the absence
complete. so why do i continue? i am
a writer. it seeps thru me if
you do not read me you will not know me
if you do not write me
i'll never know you. i trust
letters as if they were dust motes
increasing the weight of solidity.

write now i imagine a future
where we have parted and you , desperate
for some scant recollection
for some explanation of what happend
finally reach this shore.

you pick up a soda can and lob it
across the pool at the picture of one
afternoon as you lay in our bed waiting
for my lust,how you feigned sleep just like
in the movies, how i crawled in beside you
because i love you sexy how close we
became to satisfaction
where words imposed superfluidity
then garbled out in the tulgy sky where
we form into cirrus because i know you
you're a liar who's seen the hawk
and run as hydration in its blood.
we've been there together
but this flesh
doesn't remember, remind
me. write me.
in this incarnation, not some absent future.