I thought about him as I woke up this morning.
I'm not sure whether it was the bad dream
Or the fact that sometimes, you can't help but miss
What you can't hold, what you can't touch,
What impregnated your body and touched your mind
In the violent and charming ways of a hummingbird
Flapping yellow in the virgin purple of a prunella.
I thought about him fondly, passionately, angrily,
Wondering what it meant to be in love with a man
Whose flesh you tasted, whose heart you ate,
Whose body you tied and buried, with your own hands...
Maybe specters haunt us in uncanny ways,
Like cold breeze sifting through door sills,
Uninvited, into everyday life, late night dreams
And spring mornings as we lay spread eagle
Licking the taste of blood off our parched lips.
Maybe abandoned lovers leave stains that,
No matter how hard you try, how hard you rub
(Bleach, detergent, soap...)
Come back and show dissimulated dirt
Under carpets, covers, bandages, skins
And under the pretence of joy, sunshine, clear skies
And bittersweet dew of memories on Spring mornings.