Untitled III

You're the breakfast of my day,
my morning star, my sea shore
our story is short, skins swim,
afternoons beacon, and your eyes,
are courage and ecstasy, they follow,
game and golden, manners meet and met,
happy knowing looks, miss paradise,
a solitary smile, the scent of a relationship,
you speaking torch song of your voice,
the anniversary of that dear body, lips,
love, one man, one short story, one sight,
one skin, one smile, whispering to you.

poem by Guy Peppin
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My Deep

You're more lovely than all the shades
of greens and purples of any precious garden.

You're my most dreamless sleep,
my green, my cool and dark and deep.

Your smile's worth more than all the jewels
within the earth, begging at your feet.

Hot and humid, overtired. I beg for sleep!
My fresh, my green, my dark and deep.

My purple! Oh, for a dreamless sleep!
My green, my cool, my dark and deep.

You are sweeter than summer night's jasmine
and brighter than the sun's morning laughter.

My Prince, my man, my green lovely, my sleep!
my best, my fresh, my cool, my dark and deep.

poem by Guy Peppin
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Bigger Blue

Nothing is more blue,
nor anything more empty,
than a swimming pool,
it's dry leaves,
and cracked bottom,
a heart of light, and old rain,
glittered-out, with winking shards,
worn numb, by the concrete of
some Hollywood life,
drained into pictures,
turning to the skies,
sitting knee-sprung,
poised over,
an unreflective gulf,
with different strokes,
all triumphant blue is lost,
and as these moments,
are wind measured,
with floating dust,
cracked glass,

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poem by Guy Peppin
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The Evolution Of April

Whenever my twin palm trees sway,
rustling towards warmer waters,
I think of you in Los Angeles,
and then of Paris in Spring, our April,
that month sweetest and most cruel,
and on my list down, down,
near the Louvre i'd written: Love;
that romantic cliché, Paris for Eros.
I was living in the 4 th, the arrondissement
across from the Ile Saint Louis,
within sight of Notre Dame,
that's the point where the Seine god
parts his legs expansively, stretching
for a moment, before he merges for the sea.
You called me, you were lost, and so I ran
down and around my creaking stairs,
and then you were there, my Azriel,
my Thanatos, a perfect shadow standing
at Metro St Paul, waiting in the sunshine,
and always, and in my haste to meet you,

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poem by Guy Peppin
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