Peter A. Weinberg – Poetry

It was about 4 months ago
      when you said you didn’t love me
   that I fell into a hole, very deep
Now slowly,
   I am wrenching my way out

Last things
   like the look on your face
      in those days way before you decided
         you didn’t love me
   that love you will never feel for me again
Last things
   like a love you never felt at all

And I didn’t know they were last things
   just before the end
   the return to loneliness, at last
   because we are always alone

Tell me darling
   who will love that wicked, wrinkled face
   if not someone like me
   who loved you when you were younger?
Last things like the sweat on your stomach
   when we make love
Last things that aren’t meant to last

When you used to love me
   you knew how to act around me
   you knew exactly what to do
Last things, where shall I bring them?
   Shall I give them back to you?

-December 5, 2005-

Her smell is in my nostrils–
   I’m obsessed with her love
   My dear one
   The sweet smell of her– sticks in my brain
   My dear one, my love

No one loves me
No one knows my name

Mama can’t read nor write no more
   But her mark is everywhere
   Her mark is in my soul|
   Her mark is in my brain
   Mama can’t read, nor write

No one loves me
No one knows my name

When you reach for me, I’ll be there
   Does my lady still want me?
   She doesn’t say–
   Reach for me, my love
   I’m here

No one loves me
No one knows my name

When my woman comes back to me
   I will cover her in kisses
   I will love her with all my soul
   She will be mine again, I know
   She will be mine

No one loves me
No one wants my name

-September 25, 2005