We are easily alone

safely surrounded by teacups

wobbling on their saucers-

the clinking silverware, 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

silver-shift-bar’s slide

as it glides across yesterday’s blank paper,

echo the sweet carriage-bell’s ring

All rituals must begin in the right key

Otherwise we lose the fine partita 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,

Our shared quiet dialect spoken

now yet with a deeper hush.

It is against such things as this

that I measure my certainty – reflection.

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.

You halve a fruit, take a bite, hand it over

and I eat where you have eaten and

in this we deeply kiss, our feet lightly resting.

We never tell a soul.