Cheekbones of a Seasoned Kiss

I scrub the poison into
The walls and the floors
Taking in the scent of resurrection

I crave tastes and textures
A sunburst and a snow squall
Bringing up the range of all arousal

Topping off the cup, she calls to him
Remembering the bedroom of her youth
Drinking in her skin, he says to her
“What is there left to love of you?”

I wait the evening into
The midnight songs and whistles
Keeping under wraps my intentions

I curl with the weather
The wind piercing marrow
Sleeping in the rage of our beauty

Taking in the taste he said he’d bring to her
She’s thinking of how he lured her here
Sleepwalking to the sun, he shouts to her
“When you’ve left, what is there to love?”

November 12, 1998