Fata Morgana
Deckel Edged
- Joined
- Feb 10, 2005
- Posts
- 32,606
Dear Laurel & Co
A poem for Thursday.
It’s true I can’t forget any part of him,
not the long vein rising up along the underside of his cock,
or the brushy hair around his balls, dank star of the asshole,
high arches of his feet, strawberry mole on his left cheek—
imperfection that made his face exquisite—
and the freckles scattered over his back,
white insides of his wrists, I remember those too,
and the scar on his belly oh I’m kissing it now,
he belongs to me so purely now he’s left me,
he’ll never come back, his face as he lets go inside of me,
I’ll never see it again, I stand dripping
in the shower where I once knelt
before him to drink whatever came
out of him, sometimes he would watch
me as I walked naked around the room,
here I am, it’s the same room, I’m still
seeing his face the night it closed
to me forever like a failed business, iron grillwork
across the door, dirty windows, trash scattered
over the floor and the fixtures taken out, I turned
away and stumbled down the street, the one bar
was open, the saddest bar in the world, filled
with painted clowns and a few drunks, the owner had passed out
in a booth, covered by his coat, his girlfriend was working
and said The usual, right? and I couldn’t say a word
except Please, and I took a stool and drank
what she served and served and served.
Kim Addonizio
A poem for Thursday.
It’s true I can’t forget any part of him,
not the long vein rising up along the underside of his cock,
or the brushy hair around his balls, dank star of the asshole,
high arches of his feet, strawberry mole on his left cheek—
imperfection that made his face exquisite—
and the freckles scattered over his back,
white insides of his wrists, I remember those too,
and the scar on his belly oh I’m kissing it now,
he belongs to me so purely now he’s left me,
he’ll never come back, his face as he lets go inside of me,
I’ll never see it again, I stand dripping
in the shower where I once knelt
before him to drink whatever came
out of him, sometimes he would watch
me as I walked naked around the room,
here I am, it’s the same room, I’m still
seeing his face the night it closed
to me forever like a failed business, iron grillwork
across the door, dirty windows, trash scattered
over the floor and the fixtures taken out, I turned
away and stumbled down the street, the one bar
was open, the saddest bar in the world, filled
with painted clowns and a few drunks, the owner had passed out
in a booth, covered by his coat, his girlfriend was working
and said The usual, right? and I couldn’t say a word
except Please, and I took a stool and drank
what she served and served and served.
Kim Addonizio
