Into The Blue Unknown

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic

Submitted: September 21, 2018

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Submitted: September 21, 2018



Into The Blue Unknown


Tuesday. 6:29 PST, 13:29 GMT

It is astonishing that we met only 16 days ago

That we first kissed only 312 or so hours ago

That my bed already is lush with the smell and feel of your skin

That I get a hardon at 1:15 pm every day.


The Ides of March approach.

Our lease is up for renewal

And at this point all I can think of

Is how miraculous it is that you are here

And how much I want to be near you

To give to you receive from you

To hear you laugh

To make love with you in ways

Kama Sutra never thought of.


How to spray this montage of feelings

To paint the scene

So you may Grok

The dimensions of Joy

That have been plucked by your tender hand

That now hum inside my heart?


Bless you.


The Following Monday. 5:12 PM, 12:12 GMT

A mere 20 hours has passed since I sent you to

Artichoke Heaven.  Let's recap.


All of yesterday was in its way


Our day sailed through extravagant weather

Trying to impress us with histrionics

Including Boiling Seas and Horizontal Rain.

But there

Invisible to any Radar

Any Satellite

Any Weatherperson

Invisible to even the Starship Enterprise

We huddled under Sandstone

Under Grandma's umbrella

Under an illusion of refuge

Loving the shit out of each other


The sound of the wind and the sea

Was tremendously white and broad.

Voices could no more have been heard

Against this wildness

Than a finger snapping at a James Brown concert.

But amongst all the molecules on that winter beach

(and there were quite a few)

Two groups of them were found

In a highly unlikely aggregated state

Whispering love-talk and

Tender affirmations which were,

In spite of being quite outnumbered,

Definitely Heard.

And what is more miraculous



There you have it. 

The proverbial Sweet Mystery of Life

Defying reductionism once again.

Thank Almighty Something!!


Well, back to the Dancehall.

A two-week experiment was over.

It was time for a fish dinner,

Another comic gesture flung at the mad Sea

Just to emphasize who's eating who

In the land of molecules.


It was time for Ceremony

Serious "R"- talk.

Plans had to be made.

Lines had to be drawn

Or at least outlined.

Limits were placed at the edge of the Tablecloth

A Baby Volcano was lit

And against orders

Melted  (inauspiciously some might say)

Right in the middle of the Lovescape

Between the Ketchup and the Saccharine

Forming an embarrassing Red Lava Flow.

Our waitress came at an awkward moment

Was inordinately flustered by our Red Flow

And quickly coralled our runaway ceremony

Onto a proper plate.

She wanted to yell at us

But was too too sweet.


Back at the StagingArea

Scallops and Sturgeon landed

In the middle of Plan B

And were immediately Savored

By the strange collections of molecules from the wild beach.

Had love been born?

Was salad coming?

Was tomorrow truly to be Another day? 

Or were we just

Illusions of Refuge?

How ever do we work this thing?

This was the theme

Of the LoveScape.


Well, to make a long story longer still,

Let's just say that we,

Whose very honest feet

Had just displaced 5 billion innocent grains of sand,

We who had just blended fish molecules with ours,

We who nearly choked on fish molecules

Watching a most-happening woman in black

Maniacally strangling the life out of a Heinz Ketchup bottle

We big molecules that Love

And have Gratuitous Sex Scenes

Wet innumerable square centimeters of bedsheets

Virtually support the entire condom industry

And see uncountable beauty in each other's eyes

We big molecules that Pulse

And plant kisses without rhyme or reason

And laugh at stupid stuff

And are scared shitless

We big molecules that Dance

And wrap gratitude around each other's

Silent shoulders

And sing mostly in harmony


We big molecules that Think

And tell stories

And understand punchlines


We big molecules that Love

Have Reached an Agreement,

And are now headed off

Into the Blue unknown.


For a month.

© Copyright 2019 Russ Hamer. All rights reserved.

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