[38] Losing You, Mark Hammerschick

There is something about your echo
that defies this vacant moment
distant sounds muffled
like screaming into a linen pillow
how my blood remembers the pulse
the quickening of desire
long slow arc to crescendo
then the slow descent
arms and limbs entangled
sweat beading, seething
your hollow scent a corpse flower.
The days were long
vacuous sun drilling inner thighs
water a savior
that crazy straw hat
covering pink Ray Bans
on that lonely stretch
of Ibiza beach
back when no one went there
just another sunny day
drenched with Campari and lime
living from dime to dime.
Every day was a weekend
time was something to be denied
tethered like the abstract women
at the bar looking out at the sea
looking at me watching you
bleed into this distant sunset
and it’s that image
that reminds me
of your eyes
like the brilliance of blue dreams
remnants of Big Bang residue
a cornea beyond sight
how seeing means dreaming
here in this sterile white room
where the light has escaped
where your breath slowly fades
like that sun
longing for sight
imagining itself whole.

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