Wretched Excess

You look different
every time I see you
I want to draw you
closer to the empty
spaces I hold so dear
Your siren hand slips
from my hand
while your silent lips
still caress my fingers
I’m prepared to be
your enemy
As I circle
I think of
a cemetery
we used to visit
Your devotionals
are still intact
and under scrutiny
The dead enact
their silent rituals
Grotesque mis-
fortunes of that sort
I thought you were