Evidence of the Flood

Rings stain the walls, at the height of our tears 

we forgave and remembered 

the time. The small hand ticking backwards. 

Grazing our cheeks, lovingly. Like the fields 

we stamped under hurried feet. There was no place to go. Down, 

down the hallowed halls of memories passed. A T-shirt 

with holes insisting we liked it better that way. 

Feeling your skin around my closed fists. A buzz 

cut and a frown, the modern Mona Lisa to 

our perverted pleasures. Lacking inspiration, 

under perspiration, your sweaty brow. Dipping 

between my open lips, Fatality’s kiss, 

and God I hope this memory kills me. 

Because I just don’t hope to come back from this.