Yesterday's News

I love my life of cupboards;
to place the perfumes in plain view
on the dresser,
to hide the poisons in the highest cabinets,
out of reach of the children.

Nothing touches, and there is no mess.
My anger, dripping sweat,
diffused by your permeability,
the flashing back and forth of our
bodies together, interchangable,
the recognition of a bonded beauty;
the wanting of that forever.
Even this I can store apart
in a disinfected, bloodless
corner of the mind.

I love my life of cupboards;
the here and thereness,
the definability and
distillation of the once towering
essence of the Mysteries
in which I used to abide,
but now comfortably
fit in my drawers.
I try them on,
wear them out,
and throw them away,
like yesterday's news.