Great great amateur poem from Matthew Dickman!!!

Image by Rabi Khan, Toronto

http://hubpages.com/profile/rabi+Khan

SLOW DANCE





More than putting another man on the moon,


more than a New Year’s resolution of yogurt and yoga,


we need the opportunity to dance


with really exquisite strangers. A slow dance


between the couch and dining room table, at the end


of the party, while the person we love has gone


to bring the car around


because it’s begun to rain and would break their heart


if any part of us got wet. A slow dance


to bring the evening home, to knock it out of the park. Two people


rocking back and forth like a buoy. Nothing extravagant.


A little music. An empty bottle of whiskey.


It’s a little like cheating. Your head resting


on his shoulder, your breath moving up his neck.


Your hands along her spine. Her hips


unfolding like a cotton napkin


and you begin to think about how all the stars in the sky


are dead. That my body


is talking to your body slow dance. The Unchained Melody,


Stairway to Heaven, power-cord slow dance. All my life


I’ve made mistakes. Small


and cruel. I made my plans.


I never arrived. I ate my food. I drank my wine.


The slow dance doesn’t care. It’s all kindness like children


before they turn four. Like being held in the arms


of my brother. The slow dance of siblings.


Two men in the middle of the room. When I dance with him,


one of my great loves, he is absolutely human,


and when he turns to dip me


or I step on his foot because we are both leading,


I know that one of us will die first and the other will suffer.


The slow dance of what’s to come


and the slow dance of insomnia


pouring across the floor like bath water.


When the woman I’m sleeping with


stands naked in the bathroom,


brushing her teeth, the slow dance of ritual is being spit


into the sink. There is no one to save us


because there is no need to be saved.


I’ve hurt you. I’ve loved you. I’ve mowed


the front yard. When the stranger wearing a shear white dress


covered in a million beads


comes toward me like an over-sexed chandelier


suddenly come to life,


I take her hand in mine. I spin her out


and bring her in. This is the almond grove


in the dark slow dance.


It is what we should be doing right now. Scrapping


for joy. The haiku and honey.


The orange and orangutan slow dance.


~Matthew Dickman



I don't know much about Matthew Dickman, but I do know this. Every line in this poem is exquisite, every line dripping with entendre (double), every line makes me feel alive. When I finish reading this poem I want to have someone in my life who would rush to bring the car around so that I don't get wet. I want to dance again to Unchained Melody. I want to dance again with the one person in my life who will get it, who will know that when one of us dies, the other will suffer. I want the haiku and the honey. At some point, I will read this poem and I won't get tears in my eyes. I'm not sure when that will happen, though. Quid