mangoes

The great fucks in life
what do you remember
it’s not the orgasm
but something small
the way your shoulders shook
when I held you in the rain
how your cigarette smelled
when you exhaled in my car
or just watching you laugh
discovering your joy
I don’t want to belabor this
what’s done is done

but I can’t forget your throat
or the way you talked to my cat
in your cat talking voice
and I can’t visit that now
I can only be with you in the place
that doesn’t begin or end

I can’t remember my orgasm
but I can see your head slamming back
against the arm of the sofa
high stakes poker
shouldn’t have bet
all of me
maybe you can run
you can hide
and I wish I could

I have my writing
is it enough
would I sacrifice that
if I really thought it might
but there was nothing that I could
ever have said or done

I can’t remember my orgasm
I see myself having sex
with a hole in the crotch of your torn jeans
and thinking that was the living end
this town is like a cemetery
tombstone markers
wherever I go

I can’t remember my orgasm
but I can taste the mangoes
the strawberries
how they never smelled as good as you
or how the skin of any fruit
could never be as buttery smooth as you
or suck as sweet
as your throat

I loved someone who couldn’t accept my love
without leaving
a hundred times over
a hundred different ways

all that’s left is to leave
only see you
speak to you
in that forever place
of dreams
eating mangoes