When my heart was open for
That you had to give
You plundered it and
Made my body
They still don’t know that part
Of you that ransacked everything
Within me that was untouched.
They embrace your face and ingest it
Wanting to give themselves to you
And the fake worlds that you speak of.
You are that man, for sure,
But I have been there for the drought and depression
And endless insanity, the orchestra of your clandestine
Brain, the drums, the torture, the fanfares of warfare,
The childhood robbery, tongues sparkling red, fingers
Amidst the gargantuan gulp, footprints on the spine and trigger.
“Portrait of a Woman with Diaphanous Gown” by Georges Croegaert (1848-1923)