I looked at your body. I studied it
With a curiosity and interest, by
Asking questions that nobody could
Hear, unuttered, in silence, within
Myself.
I looked at the self-inflicted
Wounds on your skin, not too deep,
Not too violent, crusts of self-destruction,
On a daily basis, a simple routine against
Yourself, against your skin, no matter how
Old or young you were, you harmed your
Skin as it aged, and I thought I looked
Into a possibility of my own future.
I stared at these minefields, the erupted
Lava from within you, the hot blood,
Mine, yours, around your powdery skin
That always smelled clean like a bathroom
Cabinet, hard soap, unused aftershave and brush
And foam, (he had been dead for a long time),
You never ceased to use the same brands.
These products became you as I lost you,
I have your powder still, in the drawers of
My nightstand telling me as I dream that
You are right beside me, within me, without
Wounds, without harm, calm and serene.
Croque-Melpomene 