drunken men
singing in the streets
spring a younger
god his beginnings
in the plaiting of dark hair
grabbed you by the wrists
on that cobbled narrow street
vengeful magnetic
you swung round on yourself
hesitant arm at first
hand against your back
then pulled you in
searching your thighs
now factor in
I’ll never know in how many
ways I destroyed you revived you
for the flower that spreads
through the hair later
forgotten in the hands
his deepest fear
was silence and this was
the weapon he chose
at the end of that
afternoon he went back
to the room in the bay
of naxos the poor
old dirty room
its malicious
and indiscreet landlord
the cat crept out
through the door
and you ran after it
putting the ashtray
down on the side
I always remember this
and start again
and that’s the only reason I do start again