he loves It
and he hates it
Matching golds, amber, auburn frosting on bleach blonde hair
framed in too soon sunset
“do you drink red wine?”
He asks, as she packs her canvas bag
He knows the answer but he wants to slow time
wants to watch
the crinkled questions that wraparound her eyes
To raise the pitch of her voice
To its high questioning bewilderment
He knows he’s stolen just a single more moment
fatigue and finer points of Day to day details
have chased chanced poetry
that they promised.
they have to stop and grab the only window in four months time
to deliver on the promise they made.
she fumbles for her ugly green plastic journal
A computer customer gave him in shear gratitude
It fits just write
Between thigh and thigh and thigh
They write the truth
Because Rachel says
That’s always poignant
He always begins to panic as the sun sets
Dreading the bakery graveyard shift
And long lonely looming night
he loves it
He loves the fact that he can see her face in real time
Instead of Facetime On his own porch framed by his nearly blue ford pickup
He hates it as she disappears behind tinted windows
Then pauses smiling.
Shoving her schoolmarm glasses back for the hundredth time
He wonders if the moon rising
Into vermillion and sage
can keep her from hearing his silent cry
stay stay
wrinkles form around dark curls
Rusty drops from the rain gutter Agree
As they all slide into a dull aching reality
it will be 12 and half hours
’til the warmth of breath
Besets another noon fading
from rose to wine colored glasses
