The Burning of Unsated Embrace

Am I still beautiful in your imagination?

Actually, these days you—
are not even in my head.
I have seen you...
in hidden fury of deceit...
touching a corrupted body.

I am hideously ugly,
a clustered insect from the refuse heap,
breaking down all the doors of your happiness...
I stand in the disguise of a beggar.

My breath—brushing against a filthy chamber...
flows toward a secluded pool.
In turn I burn unsated embraces,
clearing away debris for a gathering of worn-out feelings.