A Stick of Incense

For Gavin

The litter other lovers
Leave always appears
So poignant in the dark:
Kleenex, condoms, sad
Old ghosts exchanging
Ectoplasmic spasms.

Let us leave nothing
Sad as this behind—
Not even our footprints—
Just our scent, the smell of
Something burning
Sweetly. Let us leave

A stick of incense.
Wherever we wind up,
We go together, hand
In hand—aware
That, fuck or suck, we
Knelt on holy ground.