You’re like a hangnail, so annoying,
can’t seem to get rid of memories of you.
Your soft skin was like sweet cream butter,
now the wrinkles match your surliness.
Your lips were like a lambert cherry,
now they taste like an unripe persimmon.
Your bed was a bastion of fervent desires,
now it’s where fantasies take their last breath.
You were a wildflower with tattoos to match,
now your once sweet blossoms have wilted.
Your eyes, a mirror, reflected our passions,
now it’s smeared with snowy residue’s insidious grip.
Your body was the envy of a long line of lovers,
now it’s beaten, battered, used, older than your years.
Your orgasmic rivers once drowned my spirit,
now dried up, into your ravine no one takes a dip.
Cravings numbed, out of place, they walked out the door,
delusions dead, raunchy images in my mind expired,
no longer communicating by seductive touches,
a harsh reality flushed my threadbare senses,
not even Valium-filled veins could quell this aura of evil.
All the more evil when a reflection of self. – mh clay