Contemplations

(this is a poem I wrote about a year ago)


I once imagined it would be you,
dancing between my thighs
during the days when I first
contemplated my mortality.

What else to think of a man
who brought me glass slippers,
and plaited my hair with sunlight
before spilling promises
as easily as cheap wine
in a brothel?

I no longer wait for hands
now repelled by bared nipples,
a tongue reluctant to explore
moist spaces, a mouth
gone mute to words about love.

We have declined into
silence, my body tumbled
to illness- trapped, with you,
here among the cinders.

Light has been sucked into
the hole where once there was us
and I mark off these charred days
with red on my calendar.

Will I escape you, I wonder;
flee to my pumpkin
before the clock strikes twelve?

Answers elude, but
when gravediggers
line up with shovels
and women perfume my feet
with sage, should one soul
bend and softly inquire
about life's greatest
disappointment, I'll say,

you, dear,
it was you.