This glum bedlam. This sober and sexless
essence. This — I gave up to get better.
Others kiss. Others fuck. Others say, “Yes.”
Recall slick thighs, clenched teeth; what came after.
Recall, too, that I was once someone’s balm.
Sodden and gorged. Crafted in beauty, formed
in lust. Salve for a burning heart. Maelstrom
in those tender hollows. To be transformed
like this. To be sloppy in my moans. Curl
of lip. Nails stubbed. What came after heaving
upon sweat-soaked sheets making chit-like squirrel
grunts. What came much later with abstaining.
Why did you let your squirrel-cry come undone?
Even the morning breeze feels forsaken.