The following poem is really a song that seems to be playing in my mind tonight/this morning. I can't really say I can hear it per se....just that I can feel it as a song...I can hear it sung by Carly Simon and/or James Taylor. Strange. Doesn't follow any poetic meter or structure...not that l think all poetry should. I suppose my other list has me thinking...just what makes a poet? What can be considered as doggerel and others as distinct and prized poetry? I don't know. Does ee cumings fall into any set category? How about Sylvia Plath. We are, after all, a poetry list. Let's get our caps on and discuss this before I go completely mad with the inner ramblings of a wanna be poet. Goodnight.
Lapsed Emotions

Every naked body l see
Only seems to remind me
Of just what we used to be

So nice to be embraced by you
And I know you felt it, too

Now the pain that holds me tight
Each and every damned cold night
Burns my soul and steals my sight

Your love wrapped me up so warm
A refuge hidden from the storm

So good to feel, so nice to taste
Now it's all gone, all a waste
Dry cold ash is my repast

And every love I try and feel
Only seems to remind me
Of just what we used to be

Love's repose stays fleetingly

August 7, 1999

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