A Third Marriage

The aura of our love
radiates,
sags in the air,
drips from my glands
like gonnoreah
like hunger
like an odor:

The beautiful browns of oblivion
The powerful reds of sex on crack
The silken blues of a subtle winter carjacking.

I revel in the lukewarmth
of your affection
on a crosstown bus.

I recall for you
that we
were never new at this.

With you
I only ever felt as young
as a 12 year old vagrant
as a rejuvenated vagina
as a Depression era bride
as a dog of 16
as an orphan boy dressed everyday like some kind of a
clown.