I neglect nothing –
Your furled scent, the bitter tea,
The merciless maxims spurting
Diamate into the fire.
I conclude us both, like a Will –
The one impressed is me,
And you are filigree wrought,
Your stare as kvetch as desire.
(Now you must own no friends –
With your head howled back,
Like a sightless toy, like
A figurine, you must seem closed.
Childless, your mouth is contorted,
Splintered, epileptic – mine
Is an ovum, disposed
As an idol on a grave).
You placed a cigar to my lips –
I, laughing, put out the fire,
Congruous and calm. Yes,
I recollect babies and flowers:
A slap about the face of death.
And then you quietly rocked
From side to walled side and moaned
Like a gale of sadness starting.
More at https://www.jamesbellamy.org/.
