Friday, November 17, 2006

Something Old, Something New

I had my hand on the inside of her thigh,
nothing special or unusual about that,
except it was my hand on her thigh;
the girl every guy in high school fantasized about
while embarrassing his mother’s sheets.
We were friends back then, but our words
always met on the outside of our mouths.
Now, many years later, and
more than milk money in my pocket,
we whirled dreams around our tongues,
mine was old, hers new.



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21 comments:

Poetry by Kai said...

mmmmmmm

:-]

i think i heard of this phrase a lot:

"keep your hands to yourself"

i thought u heard it too...

samuru999 said...

Wow!
That poem woke me up...
on this lazy Friday morning!
I loved it...
Great reading too!

Margie

iamnasra said...

Its good to be here ..Loved the poem

MB said...

A mini-movie poem — vivid and marvelous!

polona said...

another wow poem, delightfully sensual! pat, you never cease to amaze!

Anonymous said...

Oooooh ... I just love it when you talk dirty, Pat! ;-)

C said...

dreams - I think sometimes mixed with words come off like swirled smoke.

J. Andrew Lockhart said...

I guess we all have those thoughts. :) The farther away, the stronger they get.

floots said...

funny sad and beautifully written
just right pat
thank you

Borut said...

A good one, I like it!:)

Tongue in Cheek Antiques said...

That says it all, especially the milk money!

Nea said...

I have often wondered what went on in the minds of the high school boys, and what they thought about.....now I know. haha Am I surprised, hardly.

Anonymous said...

beautiful

Amalendu said...

lovely and sensual...

~ann~ said...

mmmm .... funny how things are so much different ... even better ... the second time around

lotsa luv ann xxxx

Pat Paulk said...

Kai, I did!! One I chose to ignore.

Thank you Margie!! It was a little different.

Iamnasra, glad to have you here!! Thank you!!

MB, unfortunately, all fiction. Thank you!!

Polona, thank you, thank you, thank you!!!!

SB, what's a little dirt between friends?

C, sometimes dreams just get burnt...

Andrew, like they'll never come true. Oh well, that's why we dream...

Thanks Floots!!

Thank you Borut!!

TIC, kind of sad isn't it??

Nea, with their tongues dragging in the dirt...

Thank you Mandy!!

Thanks Amalendu!!

Ann, thanks for coming by and commenting!! Please come back, like you say the second time around is better!!

firebird said...

I love "our words always met on the outside of our mouths"--what a new and vivid way of seeing this!

Pat Paulk said...

Firebird, thank you!! That is my favorite line too.

wasted said...

hey the poem no doubt is wonderful, so matter of factual rather. Somehow reminds of gertrude Stein.

wasted said...

sorry rather all the three that i read in your blog reminds me of Stein's style...have you read any of hers?

Pat Paulk said...

Wasted, thank you!! I have read a couple of hers, the titles escape my grey memory at the moment. I think she was credited for coming up with the name "lost generation" for Hemingway and all the American ex-pats in Paris. Do you write?