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On The Occasion of a Friend's Departure From Vienna by David Richard Beasley






On the occasion of a friend's departure from Vienna. August fifth 57/


The sexual and the spiritual

intermingle.

Tonight was I betrayed

by the sexual.

Somerset Maugham wrote a story

about my grief,

But he over-rated it.


The chauffeur shocked the diplomat

when seen playing

Naked with his employer

along the beach

Because the diplomat, you see,

first loved her.

I came second and far too late

to my Greek.

Fate sat down and cried

in my flesh

Because my Helen had too soon

launched her ship,

And when she sat on my lap it was

but one night.

Though our hearts yearned to make it more,

courage failed her.

Though I threw pride in the cuspidor,

she spit on it,

Remaining embraced with her first-won;

true female.


I craved her hands when they cupped my face;

they comforted.

She was a soft pillow for my dreams.

She salved me.

I am still hers and forever she

belongs to me.

I slid 'tween the blankets of her soul,

and stretching,

I caught at the edges of our bed,

to rock us,

The crude approach is for all the others,

Unfortunates

They have not seen what I know, they

know no love.

They are statues standing in the square

of her lust.

She is inner beauty transcending

all my trust


My pillow shall be wet with salt tears,


Frustration will twist my limbs on the bed top.

I am atheist so no god have I to call to.


I must turn to my soul and there seek her in

consolation.


We shall lie wrapped in our arms, twins from a

womb, stillborn.

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