Tonight's Poet Corner: Old Haunts

Old Haunts
by Belinda Roddie

Mangy hair, loose lips,
smile held together by
base clips from a microscope.

You take my hands and try
to warm them, but there's no
circulation in your fingers.
Because you are bones, and
your jaw dangles in a perpetual
expression of shock and awe.

Undress me when it's midnight,
and you will see the skin
wrinkling like a dying pumpkin.
I lost the magic long ago, before
the clock struck its last tableau.

Cold sheets, cold pillow,
dead willows out in the
courtyard. I kiss your skull
and feel your brain pulse
beneath it. Tender
is the hour.

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