A Second Best Thing (Latest)

This is Clonmel, at least it’s what I’ve heard.
Haven’t seen much of it at all,
hanging around in this other room all the time.
I’m from elsewhere can’t remember why I came here.
Perforating common thread, perfectionately conceived, born to perform and
left out here in this second best place, a second best thing waiting to perform

Yet you, you are looking at me.
This accidental accompaniment to your mentors recitation.
His poem is now finished, the audience departed,
yet you my friend, you are still looking at me

Go ahead please do look at me
Let me be born again, allow me to perform again.
Bones decaying, skin sagging, edges fraying, joints needing stitching
Dirty.
You see sadness and are heavy and you leave me

You walk these glorious streets away from me,
the heaviness lingering.
You remember me, see me again.
You taste me, smell me, listen to me, touch me, oh yes please do touch me

You accept and in acceptance transcend the sadness that weighed heavy on you
My beautiful poet
You beautiful being

Born of sensual flow and rhythmic thrust of hand,
embellished with branch and blossom,
I am drapery for hand and arm, shoulder and chest, back and breast.
Skin.
Yet in these endless streets of pure potential,
I’m falling for another
My beautiful poet
You beautiful being
My occidental lover
I kiss you with these words
I’m left out here in this second best place, a second best thing waiting to perform

Credits: Image ‘living in a colorful world’ by AlicePopKorn, flicker.com