fraying silhouettes on a
screen of jade and terra cotta
she's
watching her new world without
interest or a fragment of passion
but by choice

while eagles fly through
her hair:
fragments laying on the side of his coffee
next to the half- (&half)
burnt toast and no butter

her blush lips
(bare of gloss because she doesn't believe in it)
lingering on his imagination while she plays
with his thoughts and a jagged
breeze

last night forgot the telephone
but now it's another night
& she's waiting for her ears to ring

go to bed, beautiful
you're keeping the moon awake.