Mia and the gigolo

When I came to you that night
I knew someone else had been there
My mother…
It wasn't you I wanted,
But her I was trying to reach
Her sadness under your skin
My father…
Their long encounters on your ribs
Their separations too
Somewhere between your thighs…
And was the salty feel of your chin
Her sourest memory of all?
Me…
Where do I begin?
In the oblivion framed from your right nipple
To its red counterpart?
In her tongue dressing up the void in spit and lust?
Will I be me without her in your arms?
Will you and I manage to equal two?
When everything I see in you
Is covered in her rust?
Could your pores answer me correctly:
Where is the spot where I failed to resume?