07-20-2017, 06:02 AM
V.2
The drawbridge, her bikini,
Half pulled-down round, no tan lines,
Cheek-to-cheek,
Tush, but now I must ask
Where did you go, caterpillar?
Of her and my 16th years,
When you went on the long distance walk,
Along my beer bottle's rim, in the park,
Across my hand when I lifted you,
To that connector road of nylon and polyester
I knew joy, as we stripped
And ran to the water's edge
A graininess to sand,
Stuck in an hourglass
Timeless Lake Tahoe,
To be cherished in dividends
As we returned each summer,
It reminded me of 13,
When we decided to jump,
Clothed, into the Pacific
Continuing tradition for ending cross country season;
We had dated three times
During middle school
Now, I remember you when
Day-tripping to the lake's ski resorts,
Accidentally running into you,
While you visit your father on the South
Shore would be at the least awkward
Butterflies are free and you,
Married, living in someplace where we
Never went, and the chaos of having known you
is less like the Pacific, and more like
The aquarium, famed where you are,
Down in Monterey, where I dare not venture.
The cost of admission is not worth it.
Considering the ending in the original as a later revision addition or rearrangement.
V.1
The drawbridge, her bikini
Half pulled-down, round, no
Her tush where I put you, but now I must ask
Where did you go, caterpillar? of her and my 16
When you went on the long distance walk,
Along my beer bottle's rim, in the park,
Across my hand when I lifted you,
To that connector road of nylon and polyester
I knew joy, as we stripped,
And ran, to the water's edge
There was a graininess to the sand,
Like it would take a long time to go
Through an hour-glass, perhaps get stuck
Making Lake Tahoe timeless,
To be cherished in dividends
As we returned each summer and winter
It reminded me of when we were 13,
When we decided to jump, clothed, into the Pacific
For continuing traditional last cross country practices;
We had dated three times, during the duration
Of middle school
Now, I remember you by going to the negative
Space of where we were, because I still do hold
Those places holy, and I do need reason,
When looking back on our departures
Butterflies are free, they say, and you are
Married and living in someplace where we
Never went, and the chaos of having known you
is less like the Pacific, and more like
The aquarium, famed where you are,
Down in Monterey, where I dare not venture.
The cost of admission is not worth it.
I do still call, maybe once every six months,
And you answer about half those times
It's apparent that we've learned to stick
To watching the waves, instead of trying
To measure our weight against the water.
The drawbridge, her bikini,
Half pulled-down round, no tan lines,
Cheek-to-cheek,
Tush, but now I must ask
Where did you go, caterpillar?
Of her and my 16th years,
When you went on the long distance walk,
Along my beer bottle's rim, in the park,
Across my hand when I lifted you,
To that connector road of nylon and polyester
I knew joy, as we stripped
And ran to the water's edge
A graininess to sand,
Stuck in an hourglass
Timeless Lake Tahoe,
To be cherished in dividends
As we returned each summer,
It reminded me of 13,
When we decided to jump,
Clothed, into the Pacific
Continuing tradition for ending cross country season;
We had dated three times
During middle school
Now, I remember you when
Day-tripping to the lake's ski resorts,
Accidentally running into you,
While you visit your father on the South
Shore would be at the least awkward
Butterflies are free and you,
Married, living in someplace where we
Never went, and the chaos of having known you
is less like the Pacific, and more like
The aquarium, famed where you are,
Down in Monterey, where I dare not venture.
The cost of admission is not worth it.
Considering the ending in the original as a later revision addition or rearrangement.
V.1
The drawbridge, her bikini
Half pulled-down, round, no
Her tush where I put you, but now I must ask
Where did you go, caterpillar? of her and my 16
When you went on the long distance walk,
Along my beer bottle's rim, in the park,
Across my hand when I lifted you,
To that connector road of nylon and polyester
I knew joy, as we stripped,
And ran, to the water's edge
There was a graininess to the sand,
Like it would take a long time to go
Through an hour-glass, perhaps get stuck
Making Lake Tahoe timeless,
To be cherished in dividends
As we returned each summer and winter
It reminded me of when we were 13,
When we decided to jump, clothed, into the Pacific
For continuing traditional last cross country practices;
We had dated three times, during the duration
Of middle school
Now, I remember you by going to the negative
Space of where we were, because I still do hold
Those places holy, and I do need reason,
When looking back on our departures
Butterflies are free, they say, and you are
Married and living in someplace where we
Never went, and the chaos of having known you
is less like the Pacific, and more like
The aquarium, famed where you are,
Down in Monterey, where I dare not venture.
The cost of admission is not worth it.
I do still call, maybe once every six months,
And you answer about half those times
It's apparent that we've learned to stick
To watching the waves, instead of trying
To measure our weight against the water.