The Way I Wish It Went.

[likeantelope]

He holds the cards in his hands. Jokers and Queens.
On his knees in some strange place, where the moss
covers over the cracks. And any thoughts that might run to her
are slammed to the ground with a desperate violence. 
At home she dreams of the skin at the nape of his neck.
How he curled around her like a fine husk. 
And there is a list of things that ring out like the bell
of his name, of what she gets sick on.
Where he is now, the history of love goes back to antiquity.
A circus of women with their frills and flashing eyes.    
And he buries his hands in any heat he can find, 
dreams of Great Fires, of how easily things burn. 
Wakes and reminds himself of how little use there is 
in remembering a life already gone.