I was trying to write the shortest poem
only to wake up this morning
and find my heart smiling
realising no poem would be shorter
than when –eyes closed– I pull you a little closer to whisper on your lips almost nothing
(oh, that sweet fragile warmth of morning closeness)
a memory of you crept under my dreams earlier
almost demanding I let go and fall into some half-remembered story beneath your pillow
and so I'm taken, lying next to you
we take a moment – we smile into each other's eyes
(a stolen hour, a perhaps-gift)
and then you're gone
(I don't know why, but this is how much you disarm me like this, you disarm me)
looking back, a backwards selection of poetry by Laonikos, is now available in print.
..considers himself a musician. ..plays the piano.
..is a wilderness guide. ..is a meta-buddhist. ..eats food from bins. ..bites (when he eats). ..likes food. ..likes food a lot. ..makes his own bread. ..owns an underground sex-shop in Antarctica. ..is from Greece. ..is 22 23 years young. ..likes change. ..likes naked women. ..is not ashamed of this. ..is writing ALL of this. ..knows you are reading it. ..knows what you did last night. ..feels disgusted.