An Anniversary

Tomorrow is the anniversary of one great love long ago. The circumstances of today align with the past, but this time say no, and yet I grieve:

O

succulent one

full ripe I write

cheek in hand

elbow propped

on table top

I write about fruit

and fecundity

because I am not

writing about you

or the pillow

between my thighs

or the echo of kisses

and lustful cries

I write words

like velvet diadems

and emerald robes

because you will never see

words that brush, flush, and flutter

words that hum in swollen breasts

you will never see caress.

I write about Susan and Emily D.

words over backyard laundry lines

words between the sheets

I write word song cabarets

smoke ringed illusions

of tuxedoed women

poised on the edge

of their straight backed chairs

legs spread whisky

voices blended in fifths

unlike our Gregorian fourths

I write about Sister Clare

on bended knee

in poverty

in chastity

in Lenten contemplation

seeking God’s words

as distraction

from your lips.

I write a vow

a convenient

a promise

I promise to write

You and Yahweh

instead of you and my way

and yet

O