Bond Street Memory

this rhyme flies in the face
of your dark time couched blank
behind the walls of bond
street logic, an apparition now
your skinny thighs wrapped in
blue silk a violence trapped
my hands capturing all the moments
tears and remarks candles leaking
waxy white streams your breath
itself a storm the weather pre-
figuring the bucking gilded girl
catching herself wiping away the tears
still languid on this altar
introibo ad altare dea
thor's hammer ends the roman
dias seeks the maiden's startling
orgasm the cross itself trembles
the fingernails transfiguring
pain into sorrow the thick memory
your time behind the camera
your embarrassed wordless poems
were they pleasure were they desire?
typical catholic girl never all in
balancing the idea
she walked a hard path
a granite wall from her father's
account book the desire chosen
the other blood bonds equally
sardonic every night portrayed
as the party at an irish wake
this girl on bond street wrists high above
her golden face urging a transition
and just as quickly as peter
denying it three times in as many
decades all short of meaning
thor batters the structure
accomplishing almost nothing