in the swallowing

 
black coffee & smokes, she offered
for that kind of a night
that kind of a lonely

we drank to times long ago
that will never be again
we had some moments together
when there was no one else to be with

how like the mantle of night
& the crown of dawn, a woman is
when a man tells her
there is deception in her eyes
& noir in her aspect
then she knows she’s a doll

a particular passion is needed
in the making of art, & the making of love
we rip into it like a fresh kill
it’s in the risk of choking
it’s in the swallowing

in the coffee’s deep anger
& the slow dance of the smoke
I find the danger in being lovers
while she blows ash off the written page…


(Art: Frederick Sommer)