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Image for the poem Tonight, he has no poem

Tonight, he has no poem

Sadness clings to me like the lingering scent
of cigarettes and cheap perfume.
The piquant air of desperation
tastes of bitter almonds upon my lips.

I adorn myself in sorrow's benign braids
and my lover strips me bare of lace, denim,
and St. Theresa's little flowers.

I consider his redolence; when he shaves,
he won't splash on the cologne I gave him.
Sometimes he doesn't shave at all.
I like that best.

He needs his alone time, I suppose, in his den.
Reflecting on his military years. And those prostitutes.
I see their ghostly figures in peasant tops & torn skirts;
they turn and sneer at me.

At times he looks at me so intently that I feel
completely open, without secrets or shame.
So deep into me... I imagine he must be thinking
about the day when he'll have to hurt me.


(Photo by: Marco Sanges)
Kasai
Written by Kasai
Published
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