Comments about Phillip Lopat
You are not me, and I am never you
except for thirty seconds in a year
when ecstasy of coming,
laughing at the same time
or being cruel to know for certain
what the other's feeling
charge some recognition.
Not often when we talk though.
Undressing to the daily logs
of this petty boss, that compliment,
curling our lips at half-announced ambitions.
I tell you this during another night
of living next to you
without having said what was on our minds,
our bodies merely rubbing their fishy smells together.
The feelings keep piling up.