This one is proper, the other, shallow.
This goes into the blue box of pursuit,
that one into the red one of next week,
these go into the pale pink box of never go there
There must be rooms full of unfulfilled desires
of various women somewhere
on our planet
breathing in nicotine fumes of
Memories soaked in regret
and boatfuls of children’s winged desires
Of spaceman spiffs atop Attenborough’s
Predator cats deep inside a sphinx’s hollow
Men must have their trains and buses full too
Things that they once desired, withered
In the vacuousness of repition and
Cookie cut travel maps, hotels, Malls,
Even the ocean Carps and northern lights
Not as enticing as those travel photographs
And what happened to tiny desires fulfilled?
A kiss from behind, feet lifted off the ground
In faint, dizzy aftermath of slow lovemaking
Do they then fall off the face of earth and float
Around like stars, expanding into nothingness
Or do they float on unseen waves captured
Aeons later by men in search of desire?
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