(I have to lose weight for an upcoming — minor — operation, and this is the diary of how it makes me feel)
Day 21
So there has been a lot of kissing of beautiful men. It does strike me though that in talking about this I am trying to capture something that cannot be captured, which is precisely: the thrill of it all, back then. I will never forget the first discovery of beauty; being 27 years old, and never having kissed a man, and suddenly figuring out what all the love songs were about, which means the hurt really, and wanting something so much you could almost taste it, and then it’s not there, suddenly, and what are you going to do? And when I first began writing poetry, real poetry it was about this; there were endless poems to Glenn Glenn Glenn (where are those poems now?;( I know he is a homeopathy receptionist in Vancouver) which was about the discovery of the sweetness of his body. But for me it was the sweetness of the body of any man, because it was the first time. I was 27 and he was 19. But he was far more experienced than I. For me it was also the first thrill of having someone I desired, desire me. And now I can see what I am trying to recapture here and I just can’t — that goes without saying. So I wish I could say there will be a polite closing of the door to all that, and a sigh, and a sly, wistful smile, and a ‘not at my age’ — but sorry folks, that’s just not going to happen. Because I can’t imagine anything more perfect than dying with a kiss from someone beautiful on my lips, because even if it’s not a discovery of anything at all, a kiss from someone beautiful is always fresh with simply, well, with simply that.
