in a cabin in the woods during winter
i don’t like kissing,
she tells me
it’s too real, to intimate
she says
but i like everything else
on the lips,
she adds
that’s what i meant
outside it’s been raining
rain so hard you can’t
see past the rail of the
front porch
an orange tabby sits
forlorn
in the window
watching for movement
but only the rain
and the rivers of water it brings
move
i mean i want to kiss you,
she says
just not on the lips
she smiles
does that make sense?
the sky outside grows thick
and dark, thunder rumbles,
lightning cracks
the power goes out
only the glow of a fire
to light the room
do you believe in Jesus?
she asks, unsnapping my pants
religion turns me on
she kisses me, but not on the lips
it’s so intense
she says
the cat jumps from the window
when lightning cracks close
thunder rumbles directly overhead
____________
growing old and that’s okay
my left ear finally gave up
quit
closed down
i can no longer hear
on the left side
and that’s okay
pain is gone
finally
ringing stopped
finally
and
half of the words of
crybabies, complainers, naysayers,
despots, totalitarian presidents
no longer register
and that’s okay
some days i wish
i couldn’t hear anything
at all,
but there’s too much
to miss
too many sounds
of beauty and joy
and raw guttural pleasure
i’d rather have
half of one thing
than 100% of everything
and that’s okay
deuce coupe 