I met a man on a road I knew
I have never seen him so cruel.
Inviting me with a finger-wag,
flashing a cracked smile.
Solitary train scream,
momentary reverie.
Absinthe and sugar, please.
His slender hands needed me.
Ink on alabaster
from fingering a typewriter.
Me, pressed between pages
like a peony from his garden.
Insincere, that wet kiss.
Lived for moments like this.
Where was he the night of May fifth?
He met me on a road I knew.














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