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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=571835" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>She Is Not Mine</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">The dog walked down the street<br>Where her eyes were languid above him, <br>Suckling child- <br>And I cried, my eyes really moped, <br>Because the child was not mine, <br>And even more beautiful because the child was<br>Not mine; <br>Of needing lips not mine; <br>And I watched her leave for buses home-<br>And they were not mine; <br>All I had to do was lie in bed and jack off, <br>While the souls of tin birds crenulated against<br>The upstairs porch with the broken-down <br>Jacuzzi that molded and grew with the ululations<br>Of tadpoles and unfortunate princes, puckering undiademed: <br>And I wanted her lips, and ping-pong-<br>And the shadows stretched throughout the weeping<br>Hallways of the school, <br>The smoked out bathrooms, <br>The unicorns in the soccer field, the cherry red<br>Keyed cars; <br>She was standing out there vacillating like a fever dream<br>Like tapped crystal with something sweet inside; <br>And I do this because of my stuttering scars, <br>And because she is there hanging over me like grapes<br>I cannot reach- I cannot reach because the words are<br>Not yet mine- <br>And she is sitting straight in front of me. Sometimes<br>She turns around and smiles- smiles, <br>But I can’t really understand-<br>and the buses leave, and the schools<br>Leaves- the cormorants leave-<br>The esplanade remains green and open even as winter<br>Tiptoes under this women’s opalescent throat: <br>Like a fish suffocating in his hands, fat-bellied, the children<br>Like roe dripping out from behind….<br>Like precious gems<br>And she is not mine.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Bret+R.+Crabrooke">Bret R. Crabrooke</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=571835" data-title="She Is Not Mine de Bret R. Crabrooke" data-description="The dog walked down the street
Where her eyes were languid above him, 
Suckling child- 
And I cried, my eyes really moped, 
Because the child was not mine, 
And even more beautiful because the child was
Not mine; 
Of needing lips not mine; 
And I ..."></div>
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