one of the last things i ever did write

I.

he loved her like an autumn
of brief winds and orange skies,
landscapes of colors and cool starry nights.

loved her like glass,
delicate and fragile,
like the vase that teetered on the corner of the table
as she ran out the door
and she stood in cold street,
waiting for him to follow.

he loved her like family,
with long arms and deep soul.
the familiarity of flowered sofas,
evening dinner,
therapeutic conversation.

oh, like a dreamer
with deep laughs and soft kisses
on mouths and cheeks and foreheads
and hands and fingertips
with soft whispered words,
(you’re) beautiful.

he loved her like a child’s love
for mud and dirt and giggling and animals.
a squealing, dirty, young child,
with white teeth and wide smile.

but, he did not love her at all.
not like white piano keys and rachmaninoff,
not like spring with new blossoms,
passion and love, the
crying and need of a starving child.

but like the ash of a burning cigarette,
fallen and slowly blown away.
the soft scent of tobacco lingering in the air.

no, he did not love her at all.

II.

shadowy and undetermined,
like a carousel,
that sweet sickening feeling
(glee and despair)
you’ve drunk too much, stomach churning.
walking, no!, stumbling, falling,
you’ve sunk to the floor
unnoticed and soft.

whispering words in unsent letters and
drowning memories by the millions:
summer nights and walking in the rain,
dark branches of towering trees
and personifications of your souls
with promises broken.
eyes blind and in waiting arms.

and the sea green sheets were always warm,
unknown bodies and thin wrists bend
cello strings and cigarettes,
long winded poetry and piano pieces
like ancient cars down gravel roads,
lost in miles of land and blue green sea.
oh sweet insomnia!
kissing of lips on shoulders,
onto pavement and stars
and squealing tires and near death everything.

lips and tongues of
sweet wine and tea
thin arms and sinewy limbs,
shuddering shoulders,
slurred drunken sorrows through kisses and want.
soft iloveyous and lies on liquid,
slowly entwining and enveloping in
sweet holograms of instantaneous affection.

any skeleton will do,
half empty full of shadows, misconstrued imagery
soulless nothingness.
regret, remorse, and oh.
just, any skeleton will do.

(titled: an unfortunate seduction, indeed)

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