When You Come Around Everything Else Disappears

My eyes, of course. But also the sweet and sour sauce and the rest of

the appetizer, eaten out of sheer fright. Wax pooling round the wick.
I doubt you’ve your fill of calamari as the waiter grabs his tip

and tosses the doggy bag on my lap. Are my glasses on my hat?

Then ears, too, hightail it into twilight, flapping with lavish gusto

until, black-snagged, they spin in unceasing circles like flies sprayed lethal

dosage of Raid. And aren’t there Altoids somewhere in this satchel? Or

is it all talk, leather gabbing academic grift: love me, love me,

flutters off car keys and movie stubs as you slip through my buttery

and artificial fingers. Quiet, bub, the trailers are starting, you

mouth, as the projector spits our first date onto the screen. Where were we?

Oh right, just about night, we drop our inhibitions in a rocks glass

and pour sweet oratorios down the well. Time, too, disappears. Flip-

book calendar. Paris. The catacombs. Bones, bones, and us holding hands.