I Don't Know What to Title This

What else could you possibly offer me But your very flesh? Or do you wish I would dwell in the ruins of your soul, To take refuge there, like a Barbarian From the siege of Rome’s legions?

Fifty years, a feast of shattered bulbs Among festoons of crimson crepe paper Faded by time Like debris strewn about the shore.

What else could you give to the one who had been your master but your very flesh? This, no matter how much you always Denied me not the greetings Of those who open their lives to summer, But the farewell of hostile winter.

May God take his holiday, May Lucifer to this tenement come With his nights and pearls, With the laughter of his cats, and the fire That in your heart I would rob Like a jewel stolen In the tavern of those who love.

What else but your very flesh Could halt the music and disperse the carnival Where not even oblivion dances?

Fifty years, and the moon, Immense as the chill of the drowned.