A phantom feeling: lashes fluttering— Jessica Piazza
against my cheek. No flesh, no nerve. Wax wings:
imaginings that spring from wish alone.
The thirsty wanderer endures the same
fateful mirage: eats sand and tastes champagne.
You seem so whole; I’m left no room to mourn
the rubble we’ve become. The pilgrimage
we make each day; our devastated bed
beguiles. And we are sights to see. Engaged
by graveyard days, I rest against your head-
stone chest like flowers, so you’ll understand
what wilting is. One kiss with ravaged lips.
Embrace with wasted lust. Remaindered man
and woman wrecked by wants. This mess is us.