Look over your shoulder for the hustle of words.

Wednesday, March 4, 2009

When You Left

you were quiet as a guest -
polite, unswerving tact upon exit.
you left certain small gifts.
these provoked our intimate press
when i had them.

one - a new ranging curve
to the heft of my breasts
still like pocked winter pears
loose and low on the bough.

two - secret, delicate parcels of blood.
a thin sac, thin as a moth's wing,
the stretched seat of your bed
this centre now seen
as an empty yawned O.

the yolk dropping through me
as a heavy duck's egg.
drab washing cast over
from your short, wriggling tenure.

my small vanished visitor.

absence beats heavy,
like a heart's drum;
the flat of my feet pat and rise to it.

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