Upon My Patient Breast

you were always touching my tits and sucking them/ i do not know why i let you think that i was intimidated/ especially on that trip to mykonos where the sun had burned your breasts grilled to a golden brown as reflected by the aegean which was as blue as my first lover’s eyes were blue as poseidon’s stones/ your own stones were small and they would crawl up into your groin if the water was cold enough, and i could laugh at them and you/ go away boy/ my grace goes with you to your grave/ mine is a world made with men/ and validity falls even yet into abatement and boys hang themselves with leather strips and rope/ come walk beside me and this sea/ your wet tongue down my throat of antiquity barren as a heart/ seconds what with will and power/ only the haters could never know the and-to-dust your farewell was a gift to me/ you, mister bones, were the one with the kind of power that eludes languages and the words/ not me/ sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything/ as you liked it just a little rough/ such wounds are invisible/ still, we would not show them to our enemies or budge a single inch/ hung your gods with the heavens that were black/ the silent statues of delos under moonlight could hear your lions purr/ good faith, mosaics, i am not your slave/ you were unbidden to any sense of reckoning where the sinews of a fallen kingdom could not disguise my rage/ you were dangerous and without defeat/ you were mad to have tasted my patient breast that only the fishmongers knew that memory is a perilous mischief that has come and gone/ you had never fucked a man before/ like witchcraft, let me be the first/ to give you that piece of ass bound with poverty and riches and women in their mornings and all their wars and rounded with a sleep/ and tempests/ we cannot all be masters of our fate/ but you could dream upon my chest like princes are the smaller titties of an endless age/