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.