Steven P. Link

No wind exists today
In the dimly lit room
With curtains smelling of smoke
And the room smelling of our sex
You’re sleeping but
You’re watching me
You’re raw and passionate
You’re clinging to a belief
That it can work between us
Even in dreams
It does

Sitting by the window
Wishing for a way
To reconnect you to the reality
Of the disconnect
My favorite dress
Bought with my last twenty dollars
Three years ago in that Chicago thrift
Worn intentionally
Lays on the floor
Looking up at me
Reminding me
We fucked in the changing room
And were told to leave-
Symbolically destructive

I dress and step out onto the street
Seeking out something to drink
And the air of the city
Hits me like a cool breath
Passing by people on the street
Who know by looking at me
That’s its only sex
Any love
Left no forwarding address

I buy a newspaper
Knowing full well I won’t read it
And coffee for ourselves
Even though I don’t want to wake you

You have a scar
Just above your left breast
Where you were struck
I know because I kissed the wound
And tried to make it go away
But it’s an unfortunate truth
And exists in the way
The disconnect exists-
Perpetual

He will be back soon
Its nearing three in the afternoon
And the wind hasn’t yet made
An appearance
And I say I have to go
And I feel sick with ourselves
We fuck one last time
Symbolically destructive
I feel stuck in a metaphor
And a slight cough
As you collapse

I am weak for you
Like a drug without limits
It must be the curves of your flesh
Or the complexities of your mind
I kneel before your alter
I drink from you chalice
I consume the eucharist
And consummate the bond
Taking it all in
And leaving no stone unturned
But our sex is the weapon
That ultimately destroys us

And I leave
The scene of the accident
Putting the wreck behind me
For a while