(This is an old one, very separate from me, needs lots of editing, but I think it deserves some light as is, because in its genre it isn’t the worst thing ever written, dj)
On a stone slab before a vacant church
Until the streetlights died and swallow calls
Prefigured a roped goat, an owl on hunt,
A cat defending turf and a waxing moon
Whose dominion was now disputed only by
A gauze of cloud and intermittent car
Which lights revealed shuttered window frames
I smoked and waited for you to come to me
Although you hadn’t said that you would come,
And only by a painful glance I saw
Your eyes drive into mine, could I have felt
That you might even know that I exist.
I saw that look reflected in the hands
Of Mary at the side of Christ from Jean Fouquet
In a tiny shrine near nowhere.
I lit two candles there
Hoping you would find the flame and come
To press your breasts against my cheeks and eyes
And lips, and tongue, and teeth, but only sun
Bore down upon revolting flesh all day.
A frescoed capital of St. Hilaire
Divulged your love for others yesterday.
Jealousy inflamed my crawling skin
That on that nave I could not hold you against
My body, your liquid tongue upon my urge.
I’ve called you many names and fondled you
In many beds, on many naked floors;
I’ve forced you, wooed you, shunned you as I pleased,
Then left you for another while you slept.
I want to court you as your lover must,
But kneel to bodies spreading random heat
Seeding my Eucharist on sterile loam
In compensation for my loss of you
Whom I have failed to serve by blood and tongue.
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