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A Phoenix Fiction Writer Rising From The Ashes of Nonfiction




Poem Introduction

A poem written in 2017, which I hope is self-explanatory.



The  Hangar 
by Michael T. Martin

I don't often go in the hangar
It's locked by time and place
Still I'm attracted to visit it
I just don't often have the time

Back in the day of my youth
I behaved rather arrogant
Pursuing curvaceous women
Catapulting into encounters

Able to launch quite quickly
Targeting fueled by audacity
Hormones at full throttle
Acquiring an angle of attack

Climb into anxiety on burners
Deploying seductive ploys
Clichés, improvisations, humor
Seeking to close distances

Moves and counter-moves
Suggestions and suggestive
Comments proffered and parried
Intense suspense for all intents

High-anxiety social engagement
Hot pulsating breath and blood
Excruciating lurid anticipation
Exhausting focusing attention

Dog-fighting isn't the right term.
The women I engaged were
More than attractive enough
And adept at foiling advances

In the war between the sexes
On occasions I succeeded on fire
Sensually scoring in the sheets
More often shot down in flames

Married now, grounded
There still exists the draw
Of risking rejection for ardor
In exhilarating encounters

At times I go in the hangar
Of my memories and relive
Launching again one night
At a target of opportunity

Ephemeral engagements
Elicit warm quasi encounters
Ersatz excitement spurs thrills
Then with memories waning

Returning to arrestor cables of
Reality stopping pulsating blood
Cooling the ardor of adventure.
Longing I'm reluctant to accede

Time and place surround me.
Leaving the cockpit of lust
Empty, beckoning, I accede.
Closing the doors to the hangar


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