For Anne

I smelled her sweet death today,
in the garage, my
car was running and my headache
pounded. Visions of her
helpless smile, her hands, her
long, crossed legs and a
cigarette swim through my head
and I feel desperately
empty, longing for her kiss.
In her death I was
conceived, and from this life
I have known only her pain
and her beauty.
Oh, my Anne, my breath, can
you feel what I feel, watching
the rain fall down a
beautiful woman’s
face?