i don't have a notion about
what any of this might mean;
a slow dance on a wooden floor
or ruffled red dresses grown dull
beneath the smoke of a cigar.

airports that tear apart
weekend plans & routines.
books, books, books & salad bars
in shopping malls. dreams
which haunt & pull
& chase
leave you wondering
'do i go? do i wait?'

the letters which spell themselves out
on any computer screen, without
coffee kisses or the ghost
of your perfume.

i am sorry,
we have duelled &
neither of us have won
but through the lengthening nights
& the raincoats & the teasing of the sun
one of us might retrace the dozen paces
to correct the oversights & underscores.

we can duel again. we can pretend again.