The Best Love Poem I Can Write at the Moment by Charles Bukowski listen, I told her why don’t you stick your tongue up my ass no, she said. well, I said if I stick my tongue up your ass first then will you stick your tongue up my ass? all right, she said. I got my head down there and looked around opened a section then my tongue moved forward not there, she said ahahahaha not there, that’s not the right place you women have more holes than swiss cheese I don’t want you to do it why? well, then I’ll have to do it back and then at the next party you’ll tell people I licked your ass with my tongue suppose I promise not to tell? you’ll get drunk, you’ll tell o.k., I said roll over and I’ll stick it in the other place she rolled over and I stuck my tongue in that other place we were in love we were in love except with what I said at parties and we were not in love with each others ass holes she wants me to write a love poem but I think if people can’t love each others ass holes and farts and shits and terrible parts just like they love the good parts that ain’t complete love so, as far as love goes as far as we have gone this poem will have to do.

 

 

“Sonnet of the Asshole” by Arthur Rimbaud Dark and wrinkled like a violet carnation, It sighs, humbly nestling in the moss still moist from love That follows the descent of sweet white cheeks Down to their edge. Filaments like tears of milk Have wept beneath the cruel south wind That drives them back across the little clots of russet clay, And disappeared there where the slope has called them. My Dream has often kissed its opening; My Soul, that envies mortal intercourse Has chosen this to be its wild and musky nest of sobs. It is the swooning olive and the sweet cajoling flute The tube through which celestial creamy pralines tumble down Female Promised Land rimmed round with dew!