lupus

I stare into your red rimmed eyes
as the night slides off your fingertips
into my palm
dark and dry
like a snake's shed skin

black pools watch
looking out from the whorls
your body turns inward
and inward into itself
until it is no longer you
not even the eyes

in the final days we will sit
looking at anything
a dusty scrabble board
with dead plant leaves on the top
the smoothness of the walls
so unlike the texture of your skin

even now your body feeds on itself
devours the tissues
like a structural fire
your skin smells sour
I do not want to love you like this

so we sit
your body turned inward
and your eyes trying to turn outward
the skin around them chapped and flaky
the night slides out of your eyes
into my palm
cold and riddled

(1992)