They haunt me
whether past or present
those women who make the earth
stand still
for a moment inside
my mind. They carry
the very edifice of being past
its flashpoint
to a new beginning
& resurrection
of the hungry body’s self.
In
flesh of memory, they peripherally
stalk the temples we inhabit
& mutually sustain
: palaces of hormone-pumped flesh
blood pulses a darkened water thru
in some vampiric splendor of
fulfillment never quite
fulfilled.
Where is she who’ll dampen
that fire grilling our sex parts
before our ashes
leave us nothing?
Just to know we’ll live
beyond love
would be enough to
chill the hour
time no longer
ticks around.
