She is thinking of Southeast lovers,
Sea-life and water-foul cresting
The tail-end of Summer’s last evening,
The aurora-like skyline swaying leaves
As it waves its theatrical hand across
The tops of palms and evergreen.
He is bending the spoke-lights of his
Starry eyes into the folds of her eyelashes,
Skin of his calloused fingers ten tiny
Abrasions descending the skin below
Her breastbone: he untucks her heart,
Gray as the shadow-side of a half-burned bulb,
A gesture unsurpassable.
Time is a breast-stroke, a sweaty breeze
That blows into overturned curbside cans.
It’s the Hollywood hour of bar-tabs
And street-side cabs, corners where the
Whores roam, innocuous as last years’ lipstick
Yet still made human by the steadily-rasping
Hindrance of words whispered by strange men
In stranger cars beneath streetlights on
Whatever day the hand-strike of a calendar
Has catapulted their itchy-legged fishnets into.
The girl sitting safely in the backseat of
The boys shiny Bentley does not notice their tears;
The rain is falling now, traffic-signs blurred
Above cars where couples dine on leftoverTiramisu and kiss to the promise of next Saturday.