from the past, out of time

Your bruised and swollen mouth
Could still read me poetry
Bourbon in the South with
Lightning bugs all over the veranda
Your eyes are like those of an animal
But, oh god, your mouth,
Your pretty mouth
And milky skin
Hands like an artist
Long and thin
With ink under the fingernails
Hinting at your transgressions
I am wearing a cotton dress
From 1969
Muse in another decade
Long forgotten by time
But hands still clutching damp thighs
No more than a girl
The june bugs are buzzing
No cities before our eyes
The sky slowly drains of light
But the thick swelter lies heavy
And the crimson sun drags down the night
Your eyelashes brush my neck
Just like a world-weary child