After the Buses Stop Running

From the collection Kickass Capitalist Machine

My lips rest against
her supple back.
A window shade rises
like a bride's veil.

This is a silent film
without subtitles

A tongue of light
draws a diagonal
down one plaster wall.
It touches the floor
like a young boy's
first French kiss.

There is nothing
in this spotlight.

My lover moans softly
slides from my sweat.
Strands of black hair
coil serpentine behind.
They are hypnotists
entangling my ears.

We ignore the clock
and it ignores us.

Fevered cats fighting
fence-top battles outside
and jasmine blooms luring
nocturnal pollination
are omens ripe for reading.

But this summer night
is too hot for thinking.

Through an open window
a stealthy silver moon
creeps across the room
and kisses us asleep.

 
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