Extreme of Consciousness

I wonder what will o’the wisps will

grace my last extreme of consciousness?

My mother’s breast, or the

push against for a day

playing on a birchen hill?

A first kiss? But which one?

Whose? That virginal,

immediate, desperate one or

that which reconciled life?

The first fathomless stare of a

newborn? Or the sly complicit

smile of the grown child? That

first tentative touch? The satiation of

good sex? The hand grasped in

night’s desires and terrors? That last

damnable disagreement?

Will you mind if my

mind wanders back to my

first kiss or rolling down a

birchen hill or my

mother’s breast?

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Comments

  • Antoniatable  On February 17, 2018 at 9:35 pm

    Thought it a very good poem have quarrel or maybe confusion of your use of’extreme’/ Otherwise very fine.

  • Xan Search  On February 18, 2018 at 12:38 pm

    These are questions for us all, and poetically, extremely well-stated ones.

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