Tuesday, 11 January 2011

black coffee dressing gown spew

Yours for the Night:

  except not,
although I enjoy
your possessive gaze,
those fingers mapping
my body, little soldiers,
and watching you commit
what you think is me
  to memory, irrevocable,

  (you learn, slowly,
    my noise, the engorged
        vowels spilling
    from my mouth,
        and consider it your
    January achievement)

  and receiving
the cruel comfort of
strange bruises, a shared
breath reclining
between us like smoke -
    young man, I'll miss
    that obnoxious set of teeth.

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