For Them, Who Cannot Keep Me Any Longer

She is all there.
...
She is, in fact, exquisite.
...
Let's face it, I have been momentary,
A luxury.
...

She is solid.
As for me, I am watercolor.
I wash off.

- "For My Lover, Returning to His Wife," Anne Sexton



You have such a way with words, honey.
Such a way with words.

They billow out of your mouth,
Stained with the color of her lips.
I see it.
I hear her say your prayers every night.
And how they all fall into
Pages of binding
Signed with your names.

Honey, why is this?
The show running since 16:00 -
Intervals of white noise slipping in.
Raindrops.
A gust of wind.
Her moans, your moans,
From the other side of this wall,
The thwack of a hand to skin.
And how once
Or twice
You utter my name -
And you -
All night -
Scream hers.

I lay my body in the abstractness of my bed.
She is tangible and sensory.
I dangle metaphors like jewelry,
I stab them through my skin.
I am a hazy youth induced high.
Drug - just an edgy girl,
Fresh flesh.

You and I are sin.

Never was a promise.
Never had one to call mine.
And I never learn
From the blood seeping from
This heart -
Or the tears from these eyes -
Or your come in her womb.
Again,
Again.

Why do I have to be the dove burning
At the stakes when I
Can fly away?

But I shed these feathers,
And get warm in your fur,
Grasp your horns,
You devil -
The god playing with the moon.

There was a change in the air as we were
Flesh on flesh.

Darling, it bites.

Darling, you are a pillar.
Darling, I am dust...




Image: Francois Fontaine

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1mgwOSXTrNQ


https://youtu.be/Bimd2nZirT4?t=3m







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