Love Poem #8 //Rik

*Love* *Poem* *#8*

She was skipping over the rope, her body
a basket and her face an embrace of garbage.
We laughed like the monkey laughed, his snout
two model lorries axle to axle, though his laugh
was silent while ours staccatoed across
the boxed up exhibition space, disturbing
frowncast students and mumbly aficionados.
"Why can't these idiots see how funny he was?"
you wondered. But then Picasso sold his bits
and pieces so idiots could mount them
in ice bright halls while he mounted whores
in Paris. I'd have mounted you there and then
but the gallery staff had our number and our hour
in the company of genius was almost done.

(v0.5, Feb 2006)

Rik, knee deep
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