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10/20/2017 11:00:37 AM

Alex Gurtis
Posts: 1

At Twilight, I sit on the park bench watching phantoms materialize,
hands interlocked with clandestine lovers
vanish, cloaked in the purple sky and the brush.
The park is alive with the music of intimacy.

Those in love with love, in love with world peace,
the tranquility of passion reciprocated.

Static electric lips in the dark trace
their movements within the free-flowing form of Cicada Symphony No. 8,

Actions that mirror the crescendo of the Coquis choir.
Actions that reach a fevered pitch as I see you beneath the summer trees.
Actions that achieve a fevered pitch as my lips melt into yours and

the Stygian stars around us twinkle eternal truths and dance,
leaving the park nuanced in lightless romance.

I am in love with love, in love with lovers loving, in love with world peace,
the tranquility of passion reciprocated by you.

You.

At Twilight, I sit on the park bench searching for you
as the apparitions of my past seep back into their graves leaving me a free man,
and in each other, we find our
nouveau départ.

For we are in love with love, in love with lovers loving, in love with world peace, the tranquility of our passion reciprocated by
one another.

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