The warm
breeze
is out,
and so are
they.
Down the
dirty
boulevard,
brand new
car.
CD player
by the
pool:
lipstick,
red
nail polish.
They feel
like
Liz Taylor-
a place
in the sun.
She knocks
on your
side window
at 1 am;
full moon
over
still water.
She climbs
through
the screen
and into
your darkness.
It's a warm,
quiet
day.
The sun
shines
through an
open
blind.
She sets
her
magazine
on her
lap
and sighs.
The breeze
from a
celling fan
blows across
her legs.
It's a warm,
quiet
day.
Nothing is
happening;
she wonders if
anything
ever will.
We stand
on a front
porch;
we drink
and we
laugh.
A half moon
hangs
over the
roof
as cigarette smoke
mingles
with the
scent of
summer sweat.
My girlfriend
laughs;
she takes
a quick drag
off a cigarette.
Our youth
is a flickering
candle,
burning out
fast,
midnight
to
midnight.
