Sleight of Hand

Maybe my stitching was good
that night in the red forest
your blood in the contours of
the campground asphalt
firelight climbing the
alabaster avenues
moisturized curvature in
bandaged repose

maybe we stumbled ineptly through
mating rituals and immature lusts
your twisted shape against
those leviathan trees
some pale princess in disfigured
renegade beauty
actress from an ape yarn
that black thong around your thighs
unbroken flesh hip-to-shoulder
the art haunts me

maybe that invisible unspoken unnamed
love
we shared good
was good

maybe
but good got us nowhere now
good got us through the night
through the rut
through the long empty miles breathing
wet ocean air
through to the end of this some thing
an empty conclusion of mismanaged years
misread roadmap of our intended meanings
the end of some nothing

maybe what we thought of as good enough
was fate's ill misdirection
for what could have been great.

TA