On the Rocks

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.

The World in Her

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
Of goodbye.

Paris. Definitely Paris, I replied.

Before Winter Comes

My palpitating heart occupied
The silence between each ring
Like a chiming pendulum at midnight.

You appeared with the rainy wind
Through the window,
Your hair a bouquet of autumn leaves
Fallen from tired branches.

The beseeching patter outside
And the imploring pounding within
Formed the melody for our tears, sighs,
And my apology.

I could still hear the chiming,
The poignant promise that
We’ll never share another tomorrow.