I will have more skin to taste,
but under the nails remains your winter,
the stale rusty flesh standing
in my mind like a white simulacrum
of passion never solved.
I would make a cross with my bones
to let you pray a desire
and then I would decide
if to pardon you with the only one word still virgin.
Life and love goes on. Yet there is always that ONE. Clinging unresolved memories of the honey and the sting. Well done