her last lover

Her last lover

she sat cross-legged on the bed
her kimono half open
showing her breasts resembling
a horse trader's empty purse 
after a day with no sale.
Her face was paler than a street lamp
most of her life, and her mouth was
a bleeding slash going gangrenous
I kissed her talcum powdered 
forehead, with eyes closed
she grabbed my hand with my hand
with soiled claws and asked me
if she was still beautiful, I said yes
she clung to the mirror had told her
when she was eighteen 
This lonely old woman fucked
ten thousand times, but loved by
no one
Her shrilly laughter, she didn't believe 
what I said, but she liked hearing
the lie told 
We drank whisky until she fell asleep
I stayed the night it was raining 
At dawn, when illusion can't stop 
the brutal truth, she was dead
I hired some drunks to carry her coffin 
When the vicar spoke and blessed 
her flowerless coffin
I, the only mourner, cried for her.