Poem for Damien
first
the condoms on
the desk
on the magazine
on the floor
flushed down the
john he did leave
traces of himself
when I woke up
this morning bed
empty it's hard to believe he was here but
my beads on the
table he wanted
to be equally
naked so all
we wore were our
watches
then
the bright blue condom
wrappers revealed
as I smoothed
the covers and
the smell
he sweats easily
and cleanly and
it mixes with
his aftershave a smell to be consumed I pressed
my cheek my nose
my eyelids my lips
to the rough cheek
gnawing
on his scent swallowing
it
flowed out of
him he was
angry with me
delighted with me I was
a mannequin to
be posed in different positions without
asking I was a
squeaktoy to be pounded into
a receptacle where
he
could finally
dissolve
himself I squirmed
under
him to watch his
face as he
disappeared eyes
halflidded
mask fallen down
around his
neck
now
I am showered
shaved scrubbed
clean
of any trace my
house tidied
sheets washed
no lost socks loose
change, nothing
now that the Trojans
have left
then, from nowhere,
the scent.