We are easily alone.

Safely surrounded by teacups

that wobble on their saucers-

the background clink of silverware,

and the silent touch

of your spoon as it moves through the liquid,

touches the lip of your cup soundlessly now,

my tongue thick with slow-dripping

clover honey shared.

Remember the typewriter’s barreled-roll

a silver-shift barred slide

as it glides across yesterday’s plain paper,

the sweet carriage-bell's ring -

All rituals must begin in the right key,

or else we stand to lose the fine partita's thread

I have, we have, long chosen and when?

Who will be our final judge and arbiter?

We never did put much stock in ordinary absolution.

Oh, shattered green-glass iris -

your loaded words unspoken - sometimes.

Our shared quiet dialect

now yet whispered with a deeper hush.

It is against such things as this

that I measure my certainty.

We leaned, looped-armed, my body

braced against yours, blonde head resting

on your shoulder – freewheelin’ -  

any avenue, alley, city, place,

we repeat what we know without knowing.

Tomorrow, you halve a fruit, take a bite, hand it over

and I will eat where you have eaten.

In this we deeply kiss, our feet lightly resting.

We never tell a soul.