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I.

four a.m. wind
whistle me a song
rain
beating on my hands
like my palms on your chest
would ask you
on the bricks where i
wanted to kiss you
to feel indifferent
to my body

II.

cigarette butts sit on
park benches
cut short by roads
and hand planted trees

i want to hold you outside
under these rain drops
this is my rain over you
divide this plane
where our shadows cross
my heart and hope to die

III.

tonight i wear the
acid washed pavement
like blue jeans
on a teenager
who lost his poems
to a wife and kids
an attic and a basement
their son use to hide in,

and i 19
wonder if i will have a son to love
the way you never loved me
or if the fear of losing you
will keep me from him

and is my son dying inside her
like i was

instead
i contemplate the history
of my bed,
the one night stand i had
with you for a week

i pass friday onto saturday
and keep sunday for myself
and give you the other five
days of this weak getaway

IV.

drinking enough
to try to forget
i am trying to get her drunk
enough anticipation
i want to go out dying
i want you to rip me from
my mothers womb
with the strength of your orgasm
i want you to kill me
in pleasure i could
never give myself

V.

i want to relive a high school memory
i had of my childhood
of my mother
and father loving me

an awkward silence
followed my word
tripping over yours

VI.

i know our relationship
was just postponing time
i would have to spend away from you

i could write you a diary and only
use the left hand side of the page
but i want more from you
i want the loneliness i have
in this gossamer silence
i want an explanation to
why it rains outside
when i want to be inside you

i want to play with words
like the sixth year toys
my father couldn't afford me

i don't want to hear the words like father, like son
because my father never liked me much

VII.

i want to express you
something greater than the thoughts
in my head

i want to speak to you with my body
my fingertips
my arms and elbows
i want to lose myself in a poem you never wrote me

i don't want to take drugs

i don't want to feel good
like your neck
resting against my lips
are sealed
i wont tell anyone, promise
i wont eat anymore chocolate
my diet starts tomorrow
so do you want to go out to dinner tonight

VIII.

i want to sleep on a memory of me and you
i tried to imagine how i would undress
your body
how you would pull me towards you when you
came
back to me
i was wondering would i have ever seen you
if he didn't want you anymore

i have a writers cramp in my leg
from your tight fingers twisting my words.

IV.

i slept with you for three nights
without sleeping
and i lost the poems
i had written for you
in another sleepless night
where i wish i would be
sleepless next to you

the wind whistles different
when it is alone

i wonder if your chest
smells like the shirt you wore on it

will you still be as beautiful
as i want to forget you 3 years from now


Yogesh Chawla

This poem is appearing in the Book
Attack of the 50 ft. Poets

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