September Laminant

The clank of faux
pearl snaps on sleeve cuffs
against table top formica,
a message seeps

through wine patches
in the shirt plaid—
not long now, this leg
is coming

to an end. Time
to leave lipstick on another
mug and pull a black velvet coat
over shoulders before breezes

become extinct
for eight more, gusts
take over the glorious
hurl forward.

Before Our First Kiss

We didn’t know. How
could we?  I could be 

in the midst 

of another halo
shadow over hours 

untold. Could be
at the nudge 

and pause as they ripen
inside a green house 

beneath a green roof.
His lips could be 

ready, and I would be unpainted 

and preoccupied
with this spot on a Formica 

table top. An imaginary island
in an imaginary sea.