Your chalice was poisoned by a strange awareness And since I couldn’t drink that liquid I reached out to touch you wondering if things were lost.

But now I know it wasn’t loss that stood Between our previous departure and that arrival But him, he who had blown you into a different shape.

A concave mirror, with silver extracted from his body Slapped on the other side, you returned my signals of distress And converged love into an increasing heat at the focus.

There paper with my writing blazed, the sum of your memory, Saddened by these fictitious times, those flames unable to take the rich luster of the lamp that burned next to our bed all night!

If beauty can be exalted by athleticism in bed And desire can be mapped to the longevity of an erection How do I measure betrayal then?

Such questions asked on the April Fools Day Would find no answers. So I reconfigure associations: The turns of your speech, the blinking of your eyes.

They now don’t stand for playfulness as much as deceit. After that only excuses will remain, hedges Overgrown around another torched house.

The fire trucks left two weeks ago, I sniff At the burned timbers, somehow managing all the faithfulness of a family dog.

And who will tell the neighbors, When they are awakened tonight, What are the reasons of my howls?