The saturated coaster clung Onto the glass; she didn’t notice it. She held it to her nose and took another drag Of its waning pungence. She hadn’t tasted it; she hated whisky. But it reminded her of him.
The coaster lost its grip And kissed the counter. She lowered the glass for the last time And sighed.
With freezing hands she caressed Another ball of snow. She saw a dimple in his chest And gave to him his soul. She drew his smile; it made her smile— The dawn of her creation. She left him there to watch the sun Piercing through the horizon.
If you could choose, She started, softly, spinning the globe
As if she controlled the world
With her index. Where would you rather be?
What she didn’t know was that
Her body was the map and
Her kisses were stamps,
A different one each time,
A different experience, passion, pleasure, place.
Her hair like freshly fallen snow
Her gaze like the auroras
Her heart rhythms like the oceans
Her memory the permanence of photographs
The breathtaking beauty
Of infinite novelty
And the sardonic irony