The Blue Room
At a time of uncertainty in the no-man’s land, they again put themselves back into the bed,
Their bodies touched by that Christmas tree guarding the corner of her corridor.
Love, after resuming itself once again, was dissipated like those faint glitters,
And eleven stories down, the steady yellowish light cuddled under the lampshades
Along the going-away road; at the crossing with three tulip trees, she told him,
A black romance writer she often saw during breakfast was killed by a truck.
Now she bowed herself up, facing that direction, falling into the tristesse of necessity,
On his right, as a golf-course was silent, rising and falling in the night air, all by itself.
A small white ball of life energy fluttered like a butterfly in the bluish light,
Creating a course for itself, and a course unchartered had its own free will.
The whiteness meandered from him to her, leaving a stirring inside one body
As if it was glaring, not ready to give up yet; his leg moved to touch hers, his hand
Fumbled upward from her thigh, till she lead it to her lips, her breath even and warm,
And she freed her hand to hold his warm softness, saying that stood for her love.
Sept. 18, 2010