In The Poultry Of Intimacies.... Poem by RIC BASTASA

we've never met
even for once, even just for coffee
on one of those early mornings
by the sea,
you promised me, and i believed you.
but it is all right.
i am not that sensitive like a tooth
on a chronic infection,
it is common experience
when two people get intimate in a chat
and look forward to a meeting
nothing malicious, just trying to check
what feelings lie, what is there to be seen
really from all these common rantings,

actually i imagine you as summer to my winter.
a stone to my water.
or perhaps, a wind to pass by my window
that which you said is my pain.

but never mind, i am used to promises.
not just promises. i am more used to being lied.

Lies to me are usual happenings.
We even party for said reason.
We dance, we sing, we get drunk and we
get laid.

oh forgive my imagination. or my language.
those damn chickens, they lay those eggs.

which we counted even before they are hatched.