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Star-srossed upon a bench In the sodium twilight of hushing headlights I saw two lovers make a parcel of themselves On the bench by the corner of the school. This is a message that they send to the world Every Tuesday and Thursday, nights when Two sets of parents make two amnesties Not knowing the crime. I see them moulding A Rodin pose as I pass in the semi-dark umber, A state known to many burning Romeos And arhythmic Juliets down the centuries. The girl, ignorant perhaps of the fine bikini line That twists its thread between her hips and his The rubicon, once star-crossed, that can never Be re-crossed. The boy is well aware of the inner Lunge that skewers him to this bench and her Some words of faint mysticism pass between their Mouths, hers ruby red with the hue of promises, His dry as tinder under the match of her skin As I sweep past, and others like me, remembering The long-past scratches of adolescence pressed Like stubborn creases out of our memories I see the flicker of a hand, the smile of a devil The whisper in the ear, the deep eye make-up The absence snapping like overtaut piano wire © David Incoll 2001 |
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Copyright by David Incoll 2001 |