invisible, you said to the
Domestic pattern of my shoes
Stairs behind me, which were sharp & white &
We are invisible; a kiss to the hollow of my ear
Though it would have been better suited to a sharp
Incision of a flower-ovary (which has no
Voice, what is
Has no voice)
Or the tearing of my gloves, settled quietly in your hands.
And I wondered, asked: This, too?
Lipstick imprints: the aftermath of a tragedy in its final moments.
This flat red fades to pink to skin.
You smiled in
Uniquely yours, although the nonexistent light caught the colder sparks
In your eyes
And without missing a beat, you
Pulled up your collar a half-inch higher
(the gloves, I noticed, were gone too)
And said: see?