I see nothing of the stars or the moonlight:
He is my sickness tonight-
One damp patch on my body, one eye against the light.

Somewhere inside my wings beat furiously
Like steel drums, clanging at my heels
No legs to carry me.

His lips (I cannot bear it)
Full and heavy on my skin
Twice they have dipped now - mingled with my water
Drunk from my flower.

I thump it, as if loving were a crime.

Helpless, (why I am unhappy?)
Am I still longing?
You’ve come and you’ve gone,
Like the sweetest of summer.

I watch them all pass – seagulls,
This city of palm trees shifting its weight
And kissing me softly.

I slow-fasten buttons on hip- as the sun arises
(I take no pleasure in it)
Sweating honey still - arsenic
Those creamy droplets he’s dripped.

© Deborah Gordon 2009