Susan Comninos, "Childlessness"

  Per il mio ex amore

I guess it's an affectation:
The boat you slip into
When you flee the night. The sea's
Awake with insulin. What does it mean
That I dream of you, still
Crossing palms, lawns, the laws
Of language suspended? Drop your accent
On a female line of wash. 
Pin me in place. Your
Wine from old grapes
And men in shirtsleeves
Keeps me sick on morsels
From another life: parchment; wafers
Like paper; loss. How
I loved you in your derelict
Boots; your sweat
-Stained limbs; your
Rancid misuse of a
Horse. As my time
For a child fled, you
—il mio dolce codardo—
Thought bride and bridle
Fit the same.