This is a new kind of emptiness
that stretches from the chatter of your cheek
to the soft sapphire of evening-mouths.
It’s as if the night repeats its calculus
and stars me in the show walking
in diminutive sidestep,
whispering the dignity of repose.
I don’t know if it was the lethargy
of lamps or tremulous thunderclaps that maps
this visitation, this melancholy,
the mathematics of farewell.
You are right here in my arms,
preserved by magenta and magnolia’s
intimate embrace-
breasts heaving and breathing
your bodies perfection.
And yet I feel distant,
dredging through exhumed silences
and loveless lilac like a broken
overture or black morass
consummated in flirting rainspell.
I ate you last night and you
swim in my throat making me speak
the language of vacancies,
the drone of dolorous driftwood
misunderstood by the streams direction.
If I come any closer I might
drown in the medulla of makebelief.
If I leave you I will be defenseless
against implacable wounds like
sand dunes with a face.
And if I stay,
pray where are you tonight?