Being with Alison

I was almost her
Before the bony fingers  
Of time
Began to tug my face
Like putty, sinkening  
Under 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.