I will remember the kisses
Charles Bukowski
our lips raw with love
and how you gave me
everything you had
and how I
offered you what was left of me,
and I will remember your small room
the feel of you
the light in the window
your records
your books
our morning coffee
our noons our nights
our bodies spilled together
sleeping
the tiny flowing currents
immediate and forever
your leg my leg
your arm my arm
your smile and the warmth of you
who made me laugh again.
I’m a latecomer to Mr. Bukowski’s writing, only stumbling into it about a year ago, a fact that I find extremely upsetting because I think I could have avoided a shit-tonne of writing angst if I had discovered him earlier. Or, at least, that decade of my 20s might have been pointedly less floral in my frumpy and clumsy attempts at “romantic” poetry. I recently scanned a bunch of old poems to digitize them and quite a few from that period were very cringe-worthy in retrospect.
He might be my favorite, if I didn’t love so many. I celebrate his birthday every year 🙂
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What I think I like about him is that it is earthy without being crude (except where crude is appropriate). That, and the utter lack of BS.
He reminds me of my favorite great uncle who passed away some time ago. He was also one to cut through the bullshit and had a healthy lust for life.
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No one can write the human condition like bukowski. No. One.
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I’m afraid I’ll have to agree. I can only think of Genet as someone who comes even close and I’m thinking too much is lost in translation (or Genet was inconsistent about it).
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I don’t know what it is… but I cannot bring myself to like him. Trust me though… I have tried. Multiple times. This is a nice poem though. Maybe I’ll try him again… again… lol
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I find it works best in small doses.
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Yeah. That must be the trick lol
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She said with a wink and a sideways nod.
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