From his high window watching
Below a skinny mammal wandering along
The sidewalk in a long red winter
Coat smoking, indifferent to
Her beauty and New York's trash-strewn
Insouciance and the solitude of
The watcher and her own solitude and
Some dumb car slows by not knowing
It passes the most important
Mammal in the world to the sleepy-
Eyed ape watching at the window
Desolatedly surveilling what
Should not – cannot – be surveilled.
You take my hand, lead
Me to the bedroom, and soon
We are covered in blood.
Showering later you say
Something kind about my face
And I think: Your face is
A tyrant, your body
A thundering cavalry –
And when by text
However long later
You ask if after
Having lost you
I’m ok, I write, Shattered
That we made real
What I'd most feared.
You probably thought
Upon reading that and now
Upon reading this: He
Has a penchant for self-
Pitying melodrama. You
Wouldn't be wrong, but
I remember your hand,
Your blood, your sighs,
The sight of your hair
Wet with sweat across
Your cheek while writhing
bloodsmeared beneath me,
Around me, you were,
For an infinite
Moment, mine.
