These unfinished poems are your ankles
and the discreet gesture of elbow withdrawal
when you sit next to me between pillows and headphones
is another verse that no one will take me.
I have no desire to collect
22 cigarettes and no thought of
a bee that hits the glass
then again the honey slips on the edge of the cup
from there on the mottled sheet fluid follows,
as when you covered your breasts with your arms
that brings us closer to the meaning of love!
Our incredible hands and feet
inventing the world, the
lips hair touching the sexes, fingers curled
like ivy on the terraces...
But now it's late
all over the room is
just the shape your body left
in the sheets of the sheet--part
of your breathing is here,
the smell of the neck,
breasts,
pubis...
and I look at you over the bed again
how do you smile like a big, cruel
baby wax-doll locked in her yellow sleep
without memory
without regrets.
