Beautiful, sobbing
high-geared fucking
and then to lie silently
like deer tracks in the
freshly-fallen snow beside
the one you love.
That’s all.
Beautiful, sobbing
high-geared fucking
and then to lie silently
like deer tracks in the
freshly-fallen snow beside
the one you love.
That’s all.
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This poem is particularly tender if you really stop and think how a deer hoof print has two parts that curve into towards each other; you can see two lovers curled on a bed under a white sheet if you see deer tracks in the snow. Beautiful observation, Mr. Brautigan.
This pome moved me at a time when to me, there was nothing more important then love and I was making love to the woman I believed i would spend ‘forever with”. That was a long time ago. I think that my place in history is in the clouds with R.B.
“like dear tracks”
just beautiful