A Week in January

The internet gods conspired and
I sat with no (1) in my inbox,
still had sex alone,
you a pirate and I a lady
who wondered about priorities
wishes, misses, tricks.
Then despite them
we sat as if to chat.
I wish we were in a bed, you said,
It's been a while. Years, I said.
You said you were older,
wrinkled eyes full of time and hurt.
No matter. I want what I covet.
A long time passed, passes, will pass
if the gods of sin allow us one last favour.
It won't be long enough if the gods are right to intervene.
I did not separate real lovers, already torn apart by time, space,
silence.
I aimed to resurrect what should be left
beneath mountains of memories and words.
From that tomb rises a ghost.
You feel great, says the ghost
seeping into my mouth.
It tastes like nothing much,
only a wonder I have not known before.
I sought something fueled by love.
The gods step in to save me.
Your pleasure can’t mend me where your words would do.
They have silenced you
to set me free.