Her eyes lowered
like tarot cards
and my hand slammed the table
like a new jack
because I saw death, and loneliness
married in the dust
of someone's misfortune.
And I couldn't bring myself to tell her
it was a mistake, because
no one can articulate
crushing your heart properly
can they,
so she
leaves you sitting awkward
staring into two full cups of coffee
with infinite emptiness.
You can hardly stand
and you haven't paid her bill yet
and there's no way your tipping.
The waiter standing there like the
ferryman with coins over his eyes.
But after that its easy
you see, you walk out of the cafe
and suddenly your a little closer to all those crowds
you were never part of
and you think of all those smiles
that had caused her to kick you under the table.
You don't have to share the sky with anyone.
You don't miss details trying to point them out
to someone who wouldn't care anyway.
Then someone lays their hand on yours
and you turn it over
wondering what it will reveal.
Her eyes like coins in a guitar case
always anticipating the sound of soft velvet
or splashes of silver
in kisses and subway sex
as your missed train rumbles overhead
like a dirty incantation
to press her against the wall like
graffiti.
© 2008 anth
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Printed from www.DarkPoetry.com/dp/5142/113530 on Sunday November 23rd, 2008 01:24 PM
Certain elements © 1996-2008 Matthew Steven (matts.org)
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