by Courtenay Nearburg

The kiss occurs under a street lamp
on a Friday night, in the dim light
contributed by the new moon
           An arc in the autumn sky

He escorts her from the stage
out into this special glow
Her gown of starlit particles
           Gracefully sweeps the floor

She is made of seething curves
and his hands want to creep over her
I watch quiet, from the doorway
           Always a beggar silent, I linger

She withers under his caresses
and blows away in the night I want to
hold him close now
I could listen to his silence

The sky bleeds with loneliness
and drips out of his eyes
I wave hello, but he is gone
Lost in his own goodbye