Last
Rites
The slim,
laughing girls,
the
elegant, agate-eyed women
whom I
loved and desired
but
never was permitted
to
know, much less touch,
come
to me now, each alone.
She
straddles the stare
of my
ancient, fallen head.
Bare
feet seductively frame
bone-caged
memories,
incarcerated
dreams.
The maddening
fragrance
of her
undeodorized, ‘sixties sex
sifts
down like spices sprinkled
on
roasting flesh in the Creator’s kitchen.
I thirst,
I cry. Wet me, please!
Finally
now, at least bless me with that.
