Just Sunny

for purpose in movement and spittle

often my heart is used for space

the old ghosts holding cigars smoked to the nub often pray in the distance

poems for a man I

knew from the back

of his head –

turned on his belly,

he became a moth

let him touch you deeply in the shadow of new breath 

and regret it later as he lay in wake with another’s burden

is that not how it ends with lovers here with lovers there

those fingers up the   equivalent sanity  of a woman’s threshold aside her womb

dirty knuckles against the cusp of candied skin  

let the flies accumulate around the purpose of death 

defiantly

he fills the rooms

of this indifferent

mind –

a phantom trapped

in a catacomb

of sour memory

some semblance

of a sunrise for the blind

again, the veins run

at the seams

like the opening

of a letter from

spilled the man, his words like flatulence upon the scent whose hands are covered in scales and dried cum

whose sex did you man handle today ?

skin torn from the thrusts of promises screamed in whispers behind the ear

my fragrance concealed in sweat and dirty fingernails

stop looking for love in the wrong places