Death to the Cherry Blossom

I

When I sit down or stand up
I find myself groaning; I’m 25
years old for fuck’s sake –
should I be making such an unhealthy noise?
Sounds like Sasquatch orgasming:
arrrrrerrrrgharrrrr
No! No! It sounds like a constipated bear,
the previous person it ate caught between
its mouth and anus, unsure which end
the unsavory meal shall be ejected from.

I don’t even make that kind of noise
during moments of love making –
I’m actually quite silent,
between deep breaths, gasps and grunts.

I can’t begin to imagine the thoughts
which would consume a woman
I provided pleasure to,
if she were to hear such sounds.
Hearing animalistic noises escaping
my lips, might cause her to reconsider
the direction of our sordid love affair.
Would she really let me in, if, instead of
I love you so much, she heard errrrgghhh!

II

If I were to meet myself today,
what would I say to me? Surely
a profanity (or ten) would erupt
from behind clenched teeth,
whilst I grunt and growl
nostalgically in anger, witnessing
the predecessors of a past
I long to have forgotten, whenever
I shut my eyes.

Did I really humiliate myself
so coarsely in times of hardship
and despair, when relationships
were blossoming into life?

A woman once asked of me: Derek,
I know very little about you. You’re a writer,
so you say, thus, I request a meeting
with your written words
to judge for myself whether or not
you are the man destined to make love to me
this evening.

Tagging my heart an hour or so later on Facebook,
she announced for all to hear: fuck you Derek!
It’s over! Need she have broadcast
her despicable loathing so loudly?

III

I’m so formal, at events requiring a suit and tie,
they don’t even let me in. Though my poetry
is morally repugnant at the best of times,
with vaginas and penises being subjects my pen
is a little too obsessed with, my heart remains
genuine and respectable, and content
with practicing filial piety.

That being said, I find myself flirting
with Facebook followers, in the hopes
that the beloved cherry blossom I lost,
can be replaced with an equally seducible lady.
Perhaps I’m looking in all the wrong places,
however, bars and clubs, and other venues
for lonely, lonely singles, are seldom ventured
towards by these legs of mine.

The spark of indifference which frequent my romantic
aspirations, has inevitably poisoned the arousal
of feelings that once surged throughout this figure.
Perhaps it best if I go back to groaning painfully
whenever I move from my seat – at least that’s something
I know I can do well.

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