Wednesday, August 7, 2019

Being with Alison

I was almost her
Before the bony fingers 
Of time
Began to tug my face
Like putty, sinkening 
Under his merciless groping 
Pinching and plying my skin into
Mean, furrowed clefts 


She’s beautiful 
And when she laughs
Her hair lifts off her breasts 
Her eyes search for the vulnerable 
And the yearning.
We suffer while   
She occupies the space where we all breathe 


I feel myself disappear.
I examine with lumbering dread 
My hands 
As they evaporate 
My legs that blur into a vapy fog
The contours of my face soften into obscurity 
My mind is a flurry 
Of distress 


And in the wedge of space 
I still possess 
I perch on my haunches,
A vulture, 
Brimming with despair 
She is my torment 

And I am a creature of remorse.