Raw With Love by Charles Bukowski

little dark girl with
kind eyes
when it comes time to
use the knife
I won't flinch and
I won't blame
you,
as I drive along the shore alone
as the palms wave,
the ugly heavy palms,
as the living does not arrive
as the dead do not leave,
I won't blame you,
instead
I will remember the kisses
our lips raw with love
and how you gave me
everything you had
and how I
offered you what was left of
me,
and I will remember your small room
the feel of you
the light in the window
your records
your books
our morning coffee
our noons our nights
our bodies spilled together
sleeping
the tiny flowing currents
immediate and forever
your leg my leg
your arm my arm
your smile and the warmth
of you
who made me laugh
again.
little dark girl with kind eyes
you have no
knife. the knife is
mine and I won't use it
yet.

Quenching Vinegar

Climbing, the dirt crumbles under
the calloused balls of your dauntless feet.
Now on the backbone of mountains
We found it, the adorned tops of trees
and how they crown all that you see,
hats glowing in their own sunset,petite.

A frost on the window; confined beauty in bliss,
Bountiful knowing, the shining of stems.
this valley of rocks formed for the senses

The trees bend their shade to convey this,

ornamenting landscapes for you and the friendses
teaching us how to see through green lenses:

the dew dribbled on the chin of lawns.

Some God smirking from the raw while chewing and gnawing
the divinest of things.
He forgets the finite, starts to remember the certain
colored blocks of sees, like the darling resonance of buzzing
inside the shell of a bee.

He feels the pines laugh at me
like a capitalized word,
peaking into their hats as if they held keys,

or knew how to hold bones,
or make them talk like the trees.

mike

this might not just be puppy love
can you imagine
my bedsheets are your new clothes