July 1, 2003

• TENDER LOVE AT MIDNIGHT
  
  The scars of life
  Run their thin fingers down
  The spines of the lovers.
  
  Midnight was a beautiful time, you softer shade of night,
  The moist minutes between memory and desire,
  The moonlight managing to shatter through
  Thin walls of syllables barely spoken, the nudity
  Of honest faces.
  The knuckles burn, brush a cheek.
  
  The bare miles of sun consume their tracks
  And fold into the bowels of night.
  
  When I came
  To the door, wouldn’t let me in,
  Words fading imperceptibly into a summer circle
  Where the suitors are kept waiting outside,
  Run back in for a brief sip of lemonade,
  Slipping out the door
  To lightly push them away
  With a token smile
  And an unspoken–thus, unreal–promises
  Of tomorrow’s fragile composure,
  A stability quite pretended.

  • 12:06 am
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