Harmattan Poems I-V

I

Everything is in
a state of gradual decline:
our conversations
taper off the anticline
and dwindle into silence.

II
With time the music
will get on your bloody nerves:
your lips will bleed and
kisses taste like rusted nails;
speech will be spare and thirsty

III
We've spent our old days
swiping through false memories
by frigid windows
wet with tears, or sometimes rain;
should we go outside to dry?

IV
A chorus of dead
leaves rises with each footfall;
haze disperses in
all directions, as if from
some lone dementor fleeing

V
Sand between my toes;
Coconuts like shriveled tits
Clap against the breeze.