APPARTITION
She will return tonight,
Floating silently through
Slits of darkness, sometime
In the early morning as I
Lie awake in the cold,
Just-thinning air.
She will dance upon my
Chest, not like a Japanese
Masseuse, but like a dancehall
Girl in Vaquero Band spurs.
One November day, we sat
Like sieves in the cold air.
Her hair was a veil across the
Pond of her face, and the sun
Was born in her heart. Her eyes
Pumped light through the walls
Of my flesh, and I was a shiny
New coin on display in a soft,
Smooth, palm.
Now Polaroids of those days
Are pasted on the inside of
My eyelids. They bleed my
Mind through the pores of
My eyes; through the quick
Of my heart. And she, my
Astarte, will come and go,
Sashaying through mere breeze
And fog, her negligee clinging,
And I will follow knowing the
Back side of the moon.
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Featured image credits to AMRULQAYS on Pixabay
