Loss
In a small green tent I reached for midnight
Above our stoned embrace my lies
Emptied in an indifferent trickle of desire
We giggled, fingering each other’s faces
The strange familiar- absurdity
In the doef-doef music and the scale of my fish-nets
Two teenage screw-ups, a clichéd poem already forming
On lips bruised with vampire kisses
With which I stroked your smile, coaxing truths on which to feed
|