ghostly, i

I don't write poetry as much these days,
but here we are again.
I'm having a good night.
I was playing around in my butt,
not way in there,
not lubed and going for depth,
just having fun feeling around the outside,
legs apart,
touching around in between the cheeks.
Saliva for lube.
Pressing fingertips against the flesh.
No intention to even get a knuckle in.
Reslicking my fingers now and then
with my tongue
and going back at it
and going back and forth between the two,
groping my own butt
and sucking the fingers that
have been doing that.
I rubbed one out,
the same hand touching my dick
and my ass
and my mouth, any and all
directions of travel.
After I had finished,
shot jizz on myself,
I wiped up some with
the hand and ate it,
just what I do,
and then I took a shower.
A couple of weeks ago I shaved
my arms and my legs.
They're kind of stubbly now
but I still feel nice
not having
thick hair on my calves
you could comb through.
The shower,
putting a soapy cloth
over my kind-of recently shaved
body was a joy.
Afterwards
I put back on the same
shirt I had been
wearing. It still smelled fine,
and I like getting back into
clothes that have been
a little lived in.
I like this shirt too.
It has lots of holes in it,
long sleeves,
it used to be too tight on me
but I've shrunk
and it's loose on me again.
I sit now on my bed
back against some
pillows stacked against the headboard,
knees resting wide apart,
soles of my feet pressed together warmly,
top warm in my cozy shirt,
balls out in the cool air.
I sat down with my tape player
and big headphones,
and started playing a kind of trippy tape.
The light is dim,
moonlight through closed blinds.
It happened that the way I sat down,
once I was all comfy,
the shirt covered my package.
I don't mind having what I do,
but I imagined I had a vagina instead,
and kind of vaguely looked
down at my legs
as I listened to the tape,
and ran my hands
over my inner thighs,
stroking the skin
one way and then the other,
caressing myself,
feeling myself up.
I am without the two things
that were the bases of every
day last year.
My husband
and hard liquor.
I am utterly alone and sober.
My life, these days, is grounded pleasures.
Comedown.
Minding my diet
and making sure I still get out on walks.
I'm having a good night.
My left hand smells like ink
from holding this notebook
and writing on both sides of the
pages.
My right hand, well,
you can guess.
I am alone
but I do like myself.
I'm figuring it all out again.



ghostly, ii

I see ghost
images of us
when I'm out
walking. Across
the street,
coming the other
way, a slouched
over scraggly man
walking quickly
to keep up with
a tall dog whose
nose is driving
him forward
on a mission.
Coming down
towards me from up
the hill, someone
in a skirt that
is completely
inappropriate for
the winter
night's cold,
and her dog
going back
and forth
against
the blacktop path,
sniffing the
small plants
on one side
of the path
and then the other,
checking in
with what critters
have run over this
space, and finding
a good place to
poop on the
crisp grass
between the path
and the trees.
I see us when I am lying
in bed with my eyes
closed, and remembering
the different ways
we used to cuddle:
spooning; side
by side; tucked
into one or
the other's
belly; one
night we slept
under the stars while we
were camping and it
was cold
and the blanket we shared
helped just enough
to where it was still
a little uncomfortable,
but how close
we were together
that night, I hope that
I never forget it.
Sometimes I see the things
that it was easy to take for normal
when I was living it,
but now they seem
like something from an inaccessible other world,
how often I made out with a dog's butt
and he was glad for me to,
how long of walks you were happy to go on.
It is Veterans Day today.
That wouldn't mean anything to you.
It doesn't mean much to me either,
but it's something that crossed my mind
as I was approaching the part of a trail
where you had sex for the last time.
Earlier on that walk,
we had tried at another spot,
where I still see the both of us often,
a human looking around
while crouched low to the ground
as she encourages a dog to have some fun here mounting her,
but on that day,
at that spot,
you hadn't quite been able to get hard enough,
and of course I didn't want to pressure you,
even as I knew
that was probably the last note for that, for you.
Then, as we continued along
and we got to one more of our usual regular spots,
we passed by it at first,
as I worried others might be out
and I wanted to check ahead.
But when I saw we were alone,
I asked if you wanted to double back
to that second spot,
and you did,
and that time it worked,
you mounted me,
you did your thing.
I'm glad that you got that.
That your last time
got to be one that you seemed to enjoy.



ghostly, iii

There are many moments for which it can be said that
I, now,
am the last one to remember them.
There will come a day
when no one does
and they will be gone.



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drunk drunk



Forward, Forward, Forward

I made a rum and sprite
and it reminded me of our lifetime here
this last era of your life.
I had made mixed drinks since
but this one brought me back so specifically
feeling like I was there again
strong drink in my throat at all hours
and you.
It did not bring you back to life.
I didn't think it was going to.
I had no designs about that.
I didn't know it was going to remind me of you
to begin with.
I miss you.
I think of you so often.
When my first soulmate died
I was younger
more bent to extremes
and I felt immense guilt for remembering
any sexual moments he and I had shared,
guilt for continuing to think of them.
Grave robbing. Desecration.
With you, you were such a pal,
we were so happy to flatter each other sexually,
I still continue to think of our sexual moments
and feel no shame over thinking of them fondly.
All of it is still so on the table to me.
It was the nature of what we were
to be happy to get each other off.
I think sometimes of how you are not in this bed
to cuddle and fall asleep with.
I think very often of how you are not here to walk with me.
I think of your penis sliding through my hand
and tasting it in my mouth
and I think of the smell of your belly,
the solid feeling of patting your side as we were walking,
the taste of your paws,
and so much more,
so much more.
Your time to go came,
there was no way around it.
You are still so much a part of me.
I have learned and improved, grown,
around your knowledge and perspective,
and now I stand alone
but shaped by you evermore.
There is a negative space inside of me shaped like a dog
and the dog is very beautiful.