I wish I could teach you— 

that way you'd learn 

all the steps backwards, 

waltz to varsoviana, 

better to getting worse; deceit, despair, desire; 

there's a lie under your tongue. Sometimes,

I taste it, hot and reedy, bitter as an unripe plum, 

tantalizing, needy, the fruit of coming undone; now, 

I just taste it as my own. Summer faints into 

the arms of Autumn, all the gorgeous, sweltering 

steps that he takes 

to fall apart… 

That’s what I want; 

to ruin a man 

is to make him, 

to give him everything

is to take him;

roughly, desperately, perfervidly 

devoted through all 

the circles of hell 

and the spheres of the stars… 

There’s my letter in your chest of drawers, 

your steamer trunks, your linen ticket-pockets 

turned inside out 

and tearing; 

again,                                   Dear boy, there is no one 

again,                                        who would stay with me but you— 

again; 

That’s the motion of 

this world;                                                                   we spin in reverse 

                                                                                                      you caught me first,  

                                                                                  and I learned 

so much of Isolation 

is merely Love 

at its noblest gesture;                                                            sometimes, now, then, forever; 

                                                                         come, let’s talk only of the Past; 

Are you still famished 

to find 

if Veneration exists 

for the selfishness 

of your own 

Pleasure?

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West Ambrose is a writer and grad student. His twitter is @westofcanon and his website is westofcanon.com where you can find creative works inspired by antiquity and classic lit. The website, westofcanon.com, is also the home of the Crow’s Nest and HLK Quarterly, an opportunity for the folks of many/any disciplines with interest in nautical and seaward things.