Sunday, August 25, 2013
First Seduction
The bedroom was twin share for the night,
white laced, candles in candelabras,
something out of Madame Bovary.
The covers were tight, close to our necks
the aroma of bodies, invisible.
In passing you said, 'withdrawal'
and I thought of money from the bank.
We began that rib fingering thing
that comes with love, you caging
the soft weight of my breasts in your hand.
Everything took on a different hue
as we smoked a cigarette in the dark.
In the morning the room was clumsy
with cooing, two pigeons bobbing and
moaning on the bed.
Last Time in a Restaurant
Not long after we discussed divorce
we sat at a small table in Caffe Amaretto
in Main Street and were deeply
engrossed in the menu.
You ordered Veal Tortellini and I chose
Di Cesare. We were forever looking
the other way. You looked at a
buxom waitress, while I thought of
a passage from Kant's Perpetual Peace.
Our hands curved away from touching,
like arrows never reaching Athene
from Eros's love charms.
I can't remember how we ever faced
each other. You, with the attitude
never giving up the drink, and I, going
out for fun with the university crowd.
That night we were never close,
and when we reached a point in the evening,
finishing the wine, and folded napkins,
we knew exactly where we were.
Abandoned Love
The sky began to fall,
forming white knights of pearl,
so I held a cup out to catch
thoughts of you.
The porcelain became half full,
filling to streak down the sides,
pooling droplets on my dress
like toes looking for a river.
And again, I was too late ‒
the sky bloomed into yellow crocuses,
the cup empty of you. I hardly hold it now,
lame thing.
Two of these poems have been accepted
into the Poetry D'Amour Anthology (2014)
