"do you?" he wondered into my palms
sweat, spit, sighs and pulse combine
his head my lap our couch
the door and window too far
the oven is not on, the phone does not ring
i have no excuse to leave
his question
a white gloved finger dragging across my chest
finding that dust has settled on this love
and i am not good as i thought i would be at housekeeping silk plants
our cornered canards neither grow, nor die nor change with time
just sit and mock our shadows as we continue to pass the threshold
thusly, i've discovered that laughter is too overwhelming for this empty loft of ours
the octave of a woman's glee tends to carry easily pass the walls and down the hall
to opening elevator doors
where not even the echoed thud of grocery bags purse dry cleaning and keys
can cover flower scented giggles that chase trust back to the first floor of our building
i have every right to remain silent
and continue calculating the change
in the number of morning to midnight cigarette butts in the ashtray.





"lying is the most fun a girl can have with out taking her clothes off" alice.