You make your way
around the side of the house.
It’s a small house, all windows,
so I can see you as I make
my way to the door.
I open it slowly.
I am all things awaiting.
A woman on a train platform,
a woman by a phone,
a woman across a table
opening the anniversary gift.
Bated breath.
You come towards,
gently, disturbing
not a single molecule.
Move your mouth towards.
A mutual inhale. Only this.
Lips touching only for effect.
Two characters,
consummate, cast onto
this love stage.
We are wise enough to
know we belong to it
rather than the other way around.
And, at the same time
it is altered by our signature.