Strangers

      
       
       
Hey, why don’t you come home with me.      
He said, flicking the lighter on and off        
in the dim light, watching the bartender        
pour another drink in her cup.      
       
I can’t. Not tonight.      
     
Why not.        
It’s not like you got a man at home      
who’s waitin to love you.      
       
We can stop pretending        
to be strangers      
who have passed countless times        
on crowded streets      
eyes averting with terror        
fathoming intimacy of      
touch        
warmth of yearning skin      
weaving memories        
by the threshold        
of what could be, should be      
but      
tonight      
I will fuck you        
without the L word      
keeping promises at bay      
streaming through the bare window      
differing kisses to the night air.      
       
My hands will become useless        
in the art of lovemaking      
sculpting and moulding      
the geography of your landscape:      
circling wine-tainted flesh      
taut nipples, quivering belly      
and legs wrapped around me      
in the shape of infinity.      
       
Tomorrow      
we’ll be strangers again      
passing the same streets      
neon lights      
pulling the jackets tighter      
across our hearts.      
       
I won’t      
remember        
your name        
nor        
the shape of your skin      
taste of the breath rising      
from your pores      
and        
your eyes      
O’ those hazel irises      
blooming        
like midnight cactus      
in the shape of moonflower      
oozing with nectar and honey.      
       
The key slid across the bar      
walking out the door      
his back to the wind.      
       
She followed him        
with confidence in her heels      
across        
the ceramic floor      
the broken pavement      
the lot with no crossing sign      
to the door        
with three locks      
one broken chain      
two knobs        
twisted      
right instead of left        
kicking her shoes      
under the bed that creaked      
to the sound of water leaking      
in the sink      
sliding with ease      
into the art of belonging      
rubbing her toes      
with love    
against his        
under the sheets.