THE MAKING OF A PERFECT MEMORY

Smooth as surgeried lips,
your skin spreads its thin voice
over the quiet colour of night.
Sleep like a ghost rises
from the contours of your breath gently
as if a beast cocks its ears against my ribs.
The lush warmth of your body brightens
in the room as if coming from a distance
& everywhere opens inside me
like a chipped bowl
held for too long under the sun.
Somewhere our sweat tangles,
ache nods its weary head & begins
to rise & harden, its stone angels almost afloat.
In that fabled place, your body stretches
into a sea & veils me in its dewy need.
& I, simple as a pebble, settle deep
like a memory into your voice.
Then I begin to sharpen into focus
like heartbreak & you begin to recede
until only your skin remains, pile
upon pile of wet soil & all the palm trees
drunk with my tears

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