Two Songs of Resignation
1.
Profile Deleted
I
am sick
of
my face, sick
of
my tastes,
eroded
by existence
on
the abrasive surface
of
this inconsequential
pebble,
the banal
opacity
of which
mirrors
the clotted
vision
of my fading
sight,
the dying lamp
of
my solitary soul.
2.
Gone
The
warmth,
sometimes
heat,
of
your skin,
the
soft hairs
twisting
up
from
its smooth
sparsely
birth-marked
surface,
the
muscles beneath
that
contracted
or
stretched in response
to
my explorative touch,
the
faithful bones within
Your
hot skin
with
its apertures,
their
fragrances
and
salt tides,
the
non-gender specific
meeting
of our mouths,
our
twin tongues,
hungry,
thrusting
the
blank silence
of
this room
the
whispered resignation
of
graphite on empty page
