she wore red like a razor cut quite a figure
standing there her slender danger
dividing day from night there
from here. where I hoped to be is near
her and her fragrant flammable hair
words like always entering my mouth
that once only gargled doubt.
you see, I'd been used before like a car
between us this sweating a grandfather clock's steady tick soundtrack of saxophones sighing.
It's been too long a whole week
since love burned me like rye I had begun
to see the glass as never empty
and that scared me.
she fills me like a lake
fills a canoe no rescue and to swim
I never learned how.
© Diane Stevenson Schmolka .
Page last modified on December 27, 2014, at 12:35 AM