The Affair

Evening left you signaling the chime The witness standing back in your eyes, Pin shut lips Words without a shot glass Pouring freely down vacant streets. Pages of the past hanging from the eave Dancing the drunkard's lullaby, falling from shoe tops. Fingers twirling busy bees In the palms of honey cups. The empty barrel of the pen Inked, in the letter left Sleeping next to the wine. This writing is familiar, you wrote it. A love letter sealed with slivers, Post dated to a place long passed. Sinewy paper placed neatly in script, On the welcome mat to nowhere. Souls infused through creased air, protest Each breathe peeling the pages, Your blue wraparound dress. Consenting the satisfaction of knowing, there Across the hall is your door, uncloaked leading to your bed, This is also my bed. Rendezvous hanging like stale pipe smoke, Where clothes splash ripples in absinthe sheets.