Where Is She
Where is she, where is that touch, smooth
flesh, passionate embrace, tongue, lips,
ideal eyes?
Has she gone or are dreams merely over
when they are over? A dry thirst
is not the source
or sated in the same way:
water has become water again, hunger
betrays its keener sense.
Absence knows where a presence, sweet
and succulent, becomes itself.
Where is she, why is night
colder, no longer satisfied with full moons,
scattered, quiet lights?
Somewhere beyond the boulevard
an echo restates a misery only echoes know:
resounding through the night
there's no place to be heard.
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