On the DL

I listen to your smile

–hear it Doppler in the void—

touching your pain

–almost ruefully

–almost tenderly

funny bone pulsing high Q

I see your teeth

(polished w grit)

yell: oW!

(and at length)

I smell your doubt,

too–

in gulp

after

gulp–

the scent of you

indiscernible

–in all these carved

pathways

–annihilating

my memory.