Sulking

I stand by the window whose pane is crying.
The flowers you gave me are specks of dust:

Your lips were soft against my own, my hands
explored your pubic hair like love.
We would
explore ourselves in naked summer’s mirrors.
Your nails got stuck in hair that shook like leaves;
I see leaves shake outside my windowpane.

Are you at the parade? Your hands once took
my own. Drums beat outside; I stand alone.

A pane of glass now deigns to slice our lives,
a sheer, sharp blade that keeps us from each other.
How happy I would be if I could touch
your skin that once would touch my own. My love
can’t wane, my love.
If I could steal a kiss....