In a slow uncertain spiraling away, the day closes
into itself, & the fragrance of orange-blossoms
lifts from her skin as she skims against his sleeve
in secret-empathies
time had linked them together
a subtle warmth from his hands, & she
knowing full well that they were children of the
future
& that today was coming to a close
so the city-lights filtered down
& in her silent-knowledge, she would glance at
him, as if with a question
& he too, patient as the times
required…
Long hours in the café waiting for that moment
slow-trials in glass-halls, & then at last the
separation
already having taken place
when love had vanished, as dragonflies
against-the-waves, & we remained, with our own
intimate-language
in which we’d act within-the-world, she hadn’t
graduated yet, it seemed
but he, waiting for her always
though never quite sure of how late
it really was…
Autumn-lifts again, but the people
had forgotten the seasons, & it seemed at last
his
estrangement was to fade
with the pulse-of-love, that welled
within him, at a glimpse of her dark-features, remembering
the last
days in the city, the overhang, where people
filtered past, but he had never grown
accustomed to the others
who appeared to him as lost
in a sea-of-delusion, & yet, it was then he came
upon a quietude that sunk into
his bones…
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