Grant Flint

Old Lovers

The girl would be grey now
Her teeth betrayed now
her breasts drooped, smaller
than an old man's breasts,

her lips drawn now, pinched
and grey now, her back stooped
her gait painful slow, those
eyes vague now, the spirit

crushed a thousand years ago
when she was young, the young
man young, an endless age
ago, but oh he would give all

he has or had to see her
once, one shining moment more
before going where lovers
go, old lovers go.

Tombstone Softly Standing

These harsh years wind down my naked little wicked
life, no music left, no wild assed sperm, no ancient
cum, a dribble not a roaring stream of fireworks. I
quiver gently, these proud useless minor days, dead tree
still standing wickedly, too dumb to fall, the sap of
life upright by chance alone, each breeze a potent
ached for force of quick release, but no, I stand, I
stand my ground, decay before your very eyes, no wisdom
left to sparkle this dead day, a victim only of my own
sweet human lies, a criminal in my waste of others
time, their fervent secondary thoughts. Not here, not
gone, too quick to bury, a furtive prisoner in my own
polluted shell, I whisper sigh hiccup my visionary role
of yesterday, a monument to passion spent, a rift in
precious time, a wreck too savage to restore, a
tombstone softly standing.

About the author

12.4 (Summer 2008)   The 2River View