how to begin a poem:
the subject no longer exists.

the fatalistic penchants of this gin-soaked boy
taste of apples and snow on my tongue.
darkening freckles with a felt-tipped pen
and redrawing the constellations,
he swallowed the moon as it swayed wanton hips
across the river’s skin.

each morning, fogging pennies were dropped
into my out-turned palms; and he,
copper face, round, new-bearded,
t-square arms akimbo—and I,
gardenia pulsepoint and curves
and seastrand arms ever coiling
around a womb colder than seas—

how to begin a poem
when the subject no longer exists?

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nota bene: you might notice a few lines borrowed from another poem of mine, Vis a Vis; that poem felt incomplete to me, and I feel like the imagery fits much better here. what sayest thou?