Dissolution

The cap
on the bottle
was a doorknob
admitting
entrance to the
room where he kept
his confidence.

His visits there
turned into
lengthy stays
throughout
the fall
and winter.

Afternoons
we slept like
sated lions—
thawing for
a time in spring
before the
summer came.

Evenings,
we rose like
fish through
an oil slick.

Still, he sojourned
in his private room,
now locked, until
my knocking finally
let me in—

his saturated
flesh was all
I held—
my hands,
like dying
lilies, fell.