by Eliseo Martinez

Insomnia vs. the First Time I Loved You

The beginning of milk in each finger
and my body aching for the mother's drink
on your lips, the first contact,
a new commandment,
something in the same shoes as
"Thou Shalt Not"
but the second half, nonsensical,
a joke
the idiocy of one heartbeat
following another, the familiar heat in my skin
suddenly provoked, baring teeth, claw, sweat
and crude schemes
delicately controlled by your blue jean gaze.

Now, dawn exhales
my first day without you
begins
as simple as the jeans you wore,
as simple as a song
unraveling
in used caskets of
familiar words
and a new grief, a black sun
enters the sky which all
look up to in fear, wishing
for reassurance
in the end of all things leading to
the beginnings of another.

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