Morning

still

here

thumb

prints

on

stemware

lip

prints

too

long

legs

of

Burgundy

drape

rotund

glass

cologne

hangs

drawing

wettened

fingers

round and

round

hearing

tone

yesterday’s

night

haunts

today’s

morning

It was

perjury

when I

promised

you I

would not

fall in

love

I lied

to you

that I

did not

think

of you

admission

is not

kindness

you said

it is

a

sentence

you

you said

I must

serve

In you

lies a

river

quiet and

rippling

by the

brush

of air

at the

surface

creating

gooseflesh

in my

heart

You stand

on the

bank

I wade

in

knee deep

where I

feel your

earth

beneath

feet

and your

cold current

wrapping

itself

around

the legs

of my

soul.

An alphabet

flew past

yesterday

words

unspoken

until the

aftermath

apologies

and

absolution

ensnared

in traps

why do

we then

and only

then

become

conscious

of

four

feet

when

do we

then

and

only

then

understand

that to

survive

we

must

lose something

we’ve

been

accustomed

to

having.

He hears

no

sound

speaks

no

words

feels

touch

music

weight

passion

he

sees

me

reflecting

him

he

smells

odors

at night

and

aromas

at day

his

hands

speak

his

eyes

they

listen