2001

They say I sodomize my days and works of hands but they cannot even wait and watch my sunsets across your ample breasts dark purple and acrid as the years have gone by... They don't even have a word to say about my return from abroad sweating stammering and afraid and the stormy afternoon when we made one another and you were so violently sick and bloody that I'd to even hand out your white napkin that turned red as the sun turned red in Calcutta my beloved and my desolation... they don't know anything and yet they dare say I sodomize my days and works of hands applying cream across your arm pits applying litany to my sorrows applying vodka to one of my final visits to Bengal's poetry churches... tell me my sonny shall I dare sing hey nonny nonny hey and returneth as I must from dust to smirking dust?

But sincerely

She was spread like a fresco against
the rock as I saw her
and so lie down beside me
and we were a lay down one another
spruce with cologne
I like the way most young women smell
and snuggled to her and
circled her with my wings
scooped her out like dessert
and finally kissed her lips out
mounting her
my cheeks brushing her soft, tender breasts
our lips were smothered
and bleeding
and we were taken in for moments
eyes closed and serene
like parts of the everlasting stones
we necked and closed
and it was swell
we laid against each other
just like that
we would be walking away
from our lives soon