Not All Loneliness Poem by I.J. Benjamin

i left two scars below my feet
and i am reduced to
listening to the wet sand
as the waves lick its wounds
as it moves back to the only state it
knows

oh but i
remember the passion of the
fire
and the warm bedside and the
satin sheets on your breasts
and just how much it would
easier
if only inside of me would
die

when i was a child, i had a view of a
park bench from my bedroom window,
where one drunk would always come and drink
until one night a thick snow fell
and it must have been so quiet and beautiful
that he never woke up