Visiting The Past, Stealing Nothing

After the storm a few posies colorful
as Nembutal tablets on a dresser.

A mynah and raven all skin and bone
drink without looking at me;
the humid day unfolds.

I open your well-creased letter;
bitter words you wrote, the care
taken to injure me.

I imagine your satisfaction
burning my picture, your mouth
contorted like a woman thrusting
in pleasure.

Your shoulders bare as new coins
and shimmering with beaded sweat.

by Bernard Henrie

Comments (0)

There is no comment submitted by members.