In foreign air where your ancestors breathed
no longer than a century ago, you
comforted a belle whose fiance was
lost in twisted charred metal. Look back and
think about how that should have been your fate;
the poison in his system only tasted
sweet for so long. When words came out of his
mouth the acrid smell of death lingered, and seminal thoughts
rush back through your mind and below your spine
in tidal waves of lust, touching thighs under
the table, that was enough of a contact
in order to transfer the tension of
a dead man and his now tranquil lover.
Accidental gravity remains as
the only not so distant memory.