An Infinite Moment

Published Sunday, January 14, 2007 by Frank Sauce | E-mail this post

half of what it could be, it would be then almost

we drained the bowls and licked each other until our bowels were soothed

a clean, damp dream of what could have been and possibly what was neither a day passes nor recedes without a thought of the mist along a ridge that boils from a draw or spur

we've avoided gulches here for years now, but the ravines around here still take me to you

Three Creeks and a log on which to sit and see, we dreamt of heroes and heroines until our butts hurt and our necks were crook'd

we crossed the creeks with our feet asleep, a boulder at a time, through the ferns that writhed within the fir and oak that still guard this small clearing

here we lazed about the evening of an afternoon, our heads became balloons blown-up by a potpipe, heavy with the smoke from our childhood, our inflamed, omniscient youth

How unfortunate that we never kissed or held each other for more then a moment or two

if there could be or would have been an infinite moment, would you still wish to spend it with me and would I choose to be there with you?

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Frank Sauce

By Jeffrey Bershaw
from Portland, OR
I'll try to write as little as possible. I'm a little man with high hopes, pipe dreams and little machines inside that keep me writing.
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Painting by Anna Todaro