Scar On Your Left Arm... Poem by RIC BASTASA

the mirror is always a good metaphor
for solitude, on cold nights, the mist sticks
on the glass,
despite the coldness
in solitude
you sweat, there is heat inside you
warm body, groping hands,
the mirror faces you, blames you
and ask: where have you been
for all those years?

(sigh, emote, undress,
on uncut pubic hair, somehow you manage
an attitude of
purity)

i am here with you.
all these years.
i am. Faithful as a
rose tattoo.