You wear your pain like flesh medals round yr eyes
A peacock fan of blue and black. A victim’s pride.
I wrote yr name in wine droplets on the bed
I said it was talismanic, you said it was a mess.
Willows, lilies, fig and cassis
And other graveyard smells.
We’d be married in June ‘neath a red Spanish moon
And a rapture of Pentecostal bells
Yr thighs are a portal to heaven
But I don’t intend to be going there soon
So from now I’ll be looking out for me
And I’ll be seeing you