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.