David Lohrey

Posted: February 16, 2017 in Poetry
Tags:

Hand to Mouth

 

We die alone because old people stop fucking.

Once you give up sex, you’re on your own.

That so-called friend, your partner, no longer

returns your phone calls.

She’s found someone, as people used to say.

 

She’s found somebody else is a polite

way to say she’s no longer fucking you.

Dating is not about popcorn.

More than friends is the opposite of only.

 

Who controls the hands, controls the sex.

Your life is in her hands.

Hold them (down), tie them (up), or cuff them:

there is no on the other hand.

Her hands are all over the place.

 

What he needs is a hand job.

But you can hold his hand instead.

Go ahead, if it’s clean.

Isn’t that what “give your hand in marriage”

means?

 

Stolen kisses.

He had a hand in it. He conned her out of it.

The crime of the century was an act of indiscretion.

He pinched her bottom but she didn’t flinch.

Give an inch and he’ll take a mile.

 

Copulation won’t prevent death.

I never said that.

It’s Philip Roth’s brutal insight I have in mind:

Without sex other people don’t matter.

Without sex, there’d be nothing but hand to hand combat.

 

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Comments
  1. Laimons Juris G says:

    Nice poem!!!

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