A Chat Last Night Poem by RIC BASTASA

i am good at words.
familiar with metaphors, and you stumble
upon an
oxymoron that i offer you and which you by
confusion, have so lightly taken,
i do have to say, how much is your smile,
what is the price of your kiss,
i will be too abrupt, and blunt and you may
not like them,
though that is what it
really is: love cost this amount
per unit of convergence
divisible moments, maximizing income.

beautiful killer, you are,
tremendously slow, in conclusions,
i buy you some confounding,
this is or this is not, to be or not to be,
you this, and you do not know about that,
how time consuming
to woe and yet not to let you know
that we are not really talking and i am not
taking you for

love: a commodity, a trade in for dignity,
an excuse to gallivant like
an etherized valentino,
stuffed juliet, and frozen romeo, undressed
they all appear like
dressed chickens in a row, for sale,
three for two,
a little tete a tete, something for a bric and brac,
guess some more,

'i love you'
i really love you, and i said oh i love you too

webcams off. what kind of face did you wear then?
was it the mask? is it the face with a crown of thorns

Jesssez! for God's sake! stop talking about love,
i am freezing in coldness. Love is strange now
as we age, we do not believe about its value anymore,
wrinkled skins, and hollow bones,
empty promises of the salvific nature of
divine love,

what for? this i can say. I do not think anymore like
a philosopher, i live like a an ant now,
following pheromones, doing and doing, and hauling and hauling,
just a creature on this anthill
nothing more.