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A Finely Placed Freckle / How Great It Was / Pink Elephants On Parade

by johntogher 

Posted: 16 February 2006
Word Count: 435
Summary: From a collection called 'The Meaninglessness Of Life And The Important Of Magic In The Void'
Related Works: Silencio • 

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A Finely Placed Freckle

A finely placed freckle
On a beautiful young woman
Can send a warm shiver
Through my middle and mind.

Imperfections interrupting the smooth
Run of skin. The pinpoint precision at
The top of her thigh. The scattering
Madness of jazz on her nose in the sun.

One lying,
Along the jaw-line, fingered when stressed,
One secret,
Concealed, hidden between breasts.

To place a kiss with the warm breath
Of a rose at the apex of her arm
Would leave a tingle, a tremor,
A fervour on my lips.

How Great It Was To Make Love To Aretha Franklin Circa 1970

Travelling to meet at some motel along
Route 66, or Highway 51,
Passing children swinging tennis rackets
Hitting stones across wastelands,
A snapped string every other strike.

Arriving at the deepest hour,
Smelling the cedar-wood foundations,
As some black cat pours itself
From a fence to a path.

Slipping in, like a delicate, dreamy fish,
Amberlamps glowing and leopard-skin prints,
A baroque clock on the wall melts
Into the fuchsia patterned paper
And the throat of the wind chokes outside.

Seeing her gnaw on the wing of a chicken in bed,
Her nightdress, corners her curves, a silken red.

Moving hands across her sand-coffee skin,
Kissing her rose of a smile and unfolding,
Until we build to
That moment -
The only purest present.
That moment -
Of absolute orgasmů

Collapsing, with the birds outside,
Whistling, duped into daylight.

Pink Elephants On Parade

I'm writhing after spending days rolling
In and out of my undressed dreams
With a tight moth for company
And a hole, fingered through the jeans.

If it's to be this, then water will run
Brown and bottles will pile and break.
I made sure she knew and rolled coins
Her way. 'Soma,' she said, like in that book.

'Got any?' Any? A white phase just now.
No more pretty rhymes or perfect sins,
Just molecules fizzing, causing alarm.
Never the zest; apathetic homeland chimes

In unison and the dead come in boxes
Armed with their plastic artillery.
She knew the truth, she squeezed
It out of me like fat from a dead artery.

Credit lost, we never recovered
From that period, that full stop
Of hard and easy. We reached for the shelf
And things would fall, things would drop.

Forever now, forever now, forever,
She turns, circles, spins on her heel,
Arms - stretched in hope; sallow, fragile,
As my hands clam. Below her, I kneel.

(c) John Togher 2005

From a collection called 'The Meaninglessness Of Life And The Important Of Magic In The Void'

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Comments by other Members

Beanie Baby at 21:16 on 08 March 2006  Report this post
Hello John. I'm the group host and I'd like to welcome you on board. This is such a brilliant site and I so look forward to reading the poetry at the end of the day - such a nice way to unwind.

I like all three of these but I think the second one is my favourite. You have some great poetic lines here:

As some black cat pours itself

Kissing her rose of a smile

The only thing that put me off a bit was the thought of your glamorous lover gnawing on a chicken wing in bed but that's neither here nor there. I particularly like the thud-thud-thud of the last few lines which actually readlike a joint orgasm and that is no mean feat!

Thank you for sharing. I look forward to reading more of your work.
Kind regards,

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