Rain-cold, sleet-felt,
pelvis bones exposed and
lifting skyward
falling hellward,
sucked me Brussels dry.

Naked light bulb,
hanging chain,
lath and plaster heart,
you become the room.
Paris poor.

Bavaria bloomed.
You did not.

Innsbruck snow capped
mountain tits,
hot hostel hostilities
and sugar crumbs,
your mouth bruising me.

Thin, scratchy wool.
Stained-bruised knees,
stairwell thrusting
dry, mechanical.
Venice winter torn.

You reddened.
Your hips did not stop,
your back unhinged with us,
I saw a sneer in passion,
uncoupling us near Rome,
you left for home.

I traveled over lust
alone from there,
and found,
I found,
no vacant eyes I missed.

08/01/2006

Posted on 08/02/2006
Copyright © 2025 Timothy Somers