At the End
I�d had a shower when I returned,
having known full well
that the lazy perfume of your audacity
Still, I wasn�t equipped
for the scent that rests with me
today. Marked this way I know
that everyone can smell your tarnish;
velvety and bruised, like old silver,
and I have to suppose
that in your complacent bed
the semblance of my shadow is already fading.
Copyright �1999 by Jacquelyn Arnold. All rights reserved.
Published in Poetry the Write Way: Webstatic � First Journey (Sept. 2000)