She came to ask something
the mantelpiece figurines
danced the afternoon away
but what, I have forgot.

A woman, the age of rouge
her lips like red frosting
tastes of Chesterfields.

Talking in nicotine breaths
I watched the lethargic syllables
tremble across the grained back
of the love seat.

Sitting in mauve silk faded
I caught the scent
of last year’s kisses
like the ice cream trucks of old men
who once fingered summer dimes.

Brushing her hair in the afternoon mirror
she turned, in the glass
two fragile shapes shimmered to a stop.

My eyes stared at her pale blouse
but she looked past them, into
the deep tan of pause
and I saw myself
black with the sun

She touched my fingers
said good-bye
and asked for a kiss.

It tasted like refrigerated steak
from the night before.