Autumn

My mouth seeks to learn
the texture of ships’ anchors,
the scandalous necklines
of green negligees.
We’re still haunted by swing sets
and see-saws. Our mothers
once Technicolor, now white static
and hum. We pray for fall to arrive
so the ghosts will abandon our rooms.
Instead go licking round the edges
of the house. You see, only the cold
and fog will tear them from me.
That time you wrote of silence.
Walking into the hotel room,
a wordless stripping of my clothes.  
I am so bloodless tonight you can see
right through me. Your mouth hard
at my neck while crickets litter
the porch. All the while light
from stars fails. The possums,
their hideous tails, trailing past us
in darkness.