We play a game one wins with the smallest space:
recurring lines drawn close to the edge in chalk.
We lie on the cement drive watching constellations
form from stars into seventeenth century etchings.
Animal control cruises by slowly then stops covertly
to release a grey tabby into a nearby vacant lot.
The party flows between pornography and poetry.
Everyone’s familiar and talkative; I am alone again.
I smoke a cigar in the backyard and speak to no one
in particular until I wake again into your arms.
(June 20, 2014)
subtext 