The Memory of Your Mouth
The memory of your mouth still makes a wound
Where lips now hollow once were crushed with lust.
Your tongue and teeth that savaged like a hound
Have left a scar-like gap and taste of rust
Where feral kisses set their mark and had
Their territory. Bruises as from claws
Retain their leverage in my throat and add
A darkened trauma to nostalgia’s pause.
Although your absence, not your wild caress,
Is what delivered all this agony,
Of course I could not hope to convalesce
If touched by you again in ecstasy.
..Yes, if your mouth returned from memory
….To mine, my heart would spurn all therapy.
Extinguisher
I wish the world had disappeared when he
Left life, its days had been erased, that nights
Had turned to blankest, absolute degree
Of blackest zero, and that coldest heights
Of Everests had changed to deepest holes,
Impervious beneath the sea. The taut
Equator should have snapped and ice-bound poles
Gone hurtling into vacuum and nought.
The forests should have been consumed in caves
Of dark-flamed fires—and paintings scrubbed to white.
Cathedrals should have toppled into graves
And health to nothingness the hue of blight.
..Instead of halting all, though, part by part,
….God turned off him and dawns inside my heart.