Ways Of Making Love

If I could be half the woman that she is cat, the world could begin.

Another day, another poetry writing exercise: these ones coming from Bernadette Mayer and available at this link. These ones were slightly less bat-shit than yesterdays (see below post) and I’m not sure if it’s fair to say I did this one correctly, since it demanded a list of ‘ways of making love’ but I decided that was just a jump off point. I wrote this in 5 minutes and had just been reading some Charles Bukowski and Jack Spicer poems. With those poets in mind, I decided to leave the grammar a little sloppy and the tone a little conversational.

I’ve also included a poem below from Bukowski – about cats – because I like cats and I like Bukowski.

Emily x

Ways Of Making Love

Last night, as we lay in bed, I said
it was cute when you asked
if everyone’s as happy as us,
cute that you’re happy
with the fill of your cup.

I didn’t say that, you said,
I didn’t say happy,
I said I wonder if everyone
has as much fun.

Specificity is your M.O.
and proving a point is mine.
So what’s the difference, said I,
between happy and fun?
And I made you play a game,
at quarter past one. Called

‘Imagine if we weren’t fun’,
and I reminded you in monotones
to not forget to put the bin out.
The recycling one this week
And also we should really
get round to registering
with a GP
we’ve been here six weeks,
for goodness sake,
what if anything happened,
like a head cold.

But this is still fun, you said,
you’re lying on top of me
and naked in our bed.
You started digging your fingers
into my waist

You have to forget
the naked bit,
that’s not part of the game,
the game is the GP bit,
I tried to explain.
I’m proving that
happy and fun
are one and the same.

But your fingers on my waist
you’re always like this,
using tickles to undo me,
winning games with a kiss.

“Their eyes are more beautiful than our eyes. and they can sleep 20 hours a day without hesitation or remorse.” – Bukowski, My Cats


startled into life like fire

in grievous deity my cat
walks around
he walks around and around
electric tail and

he is
alive and
plush and
final as a plum tree

neither of us understands
cathedrals or
the man outside
watering his

if I were all the man
that he is
if there were men
like this
the world could

he leaps up on the couch
and walks through
porticoes of my

2 thoughts on “Ways Of Making Love

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