You always were a fast dresser. Taken by surprise I watched you in reverse, Covering your trembling inches, With curtains futile as chiffon. I knew where your hands were reaching, Before you gave me your back, like a stranger Jerking on the disguises we had bought together. Crumbling on the table were the artifacts of my love, Dried like blood on a scraped knee, I counted the withered petals, Admiring their curly fetal bodies, Paralyzed into spasm, sprawled on a spread. I hated to think of them as dead. Only Sleeping, The way our love was. As you slid the belt through its loops, You let out a breath that sent them to the floor Against the dark patterns of the carpet, Where I couldn’t recognize their bodies. Unmoved by their discomfort, You slip your feet neatly into shoes, Like a knife fits into its sheath. You throw your bag over your shoulder, And walk across the room, Raising your gaze for a moment, Taking in the scent of your mistake. Just as the wind arrives, Sweeping them to safety, I pace closer to you, Tickled by a few wandering martyrs, Who cling to my clammy foot, As I take small steps Towards, awakening our love.
