in living memory of adonis: stone-faced
waning
between sunlit fear and moon-eyed dreams
believe me, love, i would’ve kept you
polished and shining—
or split your marble down the middle
on a bad day, maybe
salt fresh frightful, and old
you said i taste like sea foam
am i the curl on your brow?
or the dog around your leg?
we’ll never know
behind a thin museum rope, red velvet, you
sit to be admired, and
i’ll visit, again and again, my fingers curled
and creaking, skin moaning to
feel, touch, stroke heat to the
ivory slope of your youthful cheek
but you are not mine
security’s tight, and there is a crowd
praying for that attention, closed eyes
divine
you died young
and display is no place for me
i know you’d rather stay here
