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deepundergroundpoetry.com
World Away
We squandered that summer evening
On a small boat
On the Pacific
Watching the sun sink,
From fire
To cool gold
To sudden chill night,
Deeper than the sea
Where we rode
Anchored upon the cold waves
While we toasted
Our strange fortune
With local beer and
Fresh prawns
(How I’d hoped for oysters;
The sea-tang to tantalize my tongue);
What a time,
Another life,
That even I can
No longer fathom;
Guileless young bartenders
Giving no fucks, and
Serving shits like me,
Innocently offering up ten digits,
Along with every attached delicacy;
And my wayward lips,
Lusty
And dripping with empty promises;
The only thing I retain,
Aside from smudged memory,
Are those striking maple eyes;
(Maybe I was cash on the barrel;
Maybe she saw right through me):
All of my
Could-haves, and
Should-haves,
Flower in that memory,
And,
Whither all the same.
I’m old enough now
To know it was never a game,
And all my regret
Cannot fund my shame.
On a small boat
On the Pacific
Watching the sun sink,
From fire
To cool gold
To sudden chill night,
Deeper than the sea
Where we rode
Anchored upon the cold waves
While we toasted
Our strange fortune
With local beer and
Fresh prawns
(How I’d hoped for oysters;
The sea-tang to tantalize my tongue);
What a time,
Another life,
That even I can
No longer fathom;
Guileless young bartenders
Giving no fucks, and
Serving shits like me,
Innocently offering up ten digits,
Along with every attached delicacy;
And my wayward lips,
Lusty
And dripping with empty promises;
The only thing I retain,
Aside from smudged memory,
Are those striking maple eyes;
(Maybe I was cash on the barrel;
Maybe she saw right through me):
All of my
Could-haves, and
Should-haves,
Flower in that memory,
And,
Whither all the same.
I’m old enough now
To know it was never a game,
And all my regret
Cannot fund my shame.
Published 7th May 2022
Author's Note
An old memory in the form of mediocre freestyle
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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