Merciel

No longer do I see the girl I loved.
No longer do I see the blessed virgin
whose gravity crushed serpentine heads, weighed
on hearts adrift in clouds. I only see
a little girl in habit hoping men
indulge her famished soul with attention.
I see not an ocean bubbling with life
as wise as dolphins, hues as wide as whales,
waves white as the envious nimbi above.
I dipped my head beneath and saw nothing
but sand. Small, flat, still pieces of pebbles.
The light tricked me with my own reflection.
I glimpse no garden needing guard by swords
aflamed. Beyond the gates are plains as far
as birds can fly, eyes see, man ventures. Grass
is barely green, those trails plowed by boyfriends
of old who left your hills white and eyes blue.
No seed escaped the abortionist’s touch.
Every flower, each tree, every apple
was poached from passerbys. Nothing’s your own.
Except your breasts. Those glorious breasts! Heaven-
ly moons of Jupiter, celestial beings
grabbing me with gravity of Uranus,
casting my words, my breath out to Pluto.
No night ends without choking, without dying
at the mere thought of the twin babels. That
is all I see. But that is enough for me.