Thursday, July 13, 2017

Point of No Return









A dart points at him
from the corner of its eye

his aftershave gives the afternoon
a senseless titillation.

A kiss hangs on a thread
of that invisible line drawn in the air

like the flight of an insect.
Can that faraway flash of the lips,

those bits of ardor in words
be called kisses?

Time passes beyond the two men,
the point zero of love.

No comments:

Post a Comment

Blog Archive

Followers