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.

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 Veteran’s 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.

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.

Awooo!

drunk drunk drunk

Awoo Awoo Awoo!!!

drunk drunk drunk

drunk drunk

Awooooooooo!!!!!!

drunk drunk drunk

drunk drunk

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.