“We are like newborn children,
Our power is the power to grow.”
Rabindranath Tagore
a quiet
night
until the
stink of my
attempt at a
romantic dinner
drives us like an
exorcism
out of the
apartment
just as it begins to
storm and
hail
nothing to eat
except
peppermint
patties
which she
tears into chunks and
shoves into her mouth
chewing with
embellished
glee
hail
hammers
the tin
porch roof
rain
pours
through
holes in the
overhang,
i make a feeble attempt to
plug
with my fingers,
one gets stuck
she laughs,
we’re soaked,
i trace my finger
gently
down the bridge of her
nose
and honk it
her laughter
stills,
her eyes
well
with desire,
my mouth
descends
upon hers
air currents
collide,
thunder
threatens,
one free arm
around her,
shivering,
small and
lost
in each other