After Love Comes the Impulse to Throttle

 

 

Not to be here would be best old love

The second best is to hold you

To touch through a skintight emotional glove

To think of the dance of a hawk and a dove

To stare out the window's dark blue

 

Your dog he lies still at the foot of your bed

And twitches his tail in his sleep

It's only the twitch that says he's not dead

But nothing it says of what's locked in his head

Seldom seen lost and buried down deep

 

And your waterbed has a gentle soft sound

It's warm and it clings like a womb

Like the arms of a mother it wraps one around

And keeps one from falling on cold stony ground

And takes up too much of this room

 

The window is outlined through white curtain lace

The curtain is bordered by beads

And the light of your clock falling dim on your face

Makes me long so to kiss you with infinite grace

And bite through your ear 'til it bleeds

 

The line of the maxim is terribly thin

And I walk it sore poorly of late

And if you or the dog should wake quick and spin

You might see me smiling a terrible grin

And choke on my visceral hate

 

                                                                        Christopher J. Cramer

                                                                        November 1982