New moon, twelfth house
June 17, 2007 § 5 Comments
A sidewalk terrasse in Little Italy. He is wearing a suit, but hasn’t shaved. My bike is locked nearby.
Our drinks come; he brims with words. I listen, watching his movements, finding their pulse. His thoughts light like matches before falling. He is pure air.
Another round. I notice circles, themes. He is sensitive to danger, to how quickly things turn. He braves knowing but keeps a close watch.
A third. The matches become sex: stories, then secrets. I accept his confidences, which feel like science. He asks if it’s all right. I say that it is.
One more. Motorcycles shriek north; above, the moon has disappeared. Riding home, I think about what I will write tomorrow.