lifespan of a tryst

hands,
stones,
a ripple on a circular lake, 
if lakes could be circular
like a rosewood fountain
if rosewood could hold water

a tryst,
a single flower,
for her left ear,
that dangles chinese
mass-manufactured earrings

a boy,
with his crooked smile,
and bubblegum breath
a lone bicycle,
on a deserted highway,
with lamp-posts from
the Spanish era
in Intramuros

hands intertwined,
with both feet planted
on railway tracks 
inside a daydreamer's idea
of an afterlife,

in bed,
their clothes on the floor,
promises on their lips,
her small breasts
his thrusts
her heart 
his bones

night,
and suddenly dawn,
then dusk,
she waits for him,
suitcase in her hands
he writes the date
on lakewater,

and throws away,
a jagged stone

Reviews

[Lyn Anderson]

This one is spectacular. love it. Can't really say much else.