november night

in a room with turquoise walls

the radio plays a syncopated hum

and sitting in low wicker chairs

he kisses long fingers and a palm

gazes, unsure and shy, form memories

of navy boots tapping on a wooden floor

of a black dress veiling soft white breasts

stubborn curls, open smiles, and more

mildewed curtains and hearts flutter

lips blow cool air into steaming cups of tea

the trivial, everything, makes them smile

and eyes crinkle in shared gaiety

 

the unsaid runs parallel to the said

each moment unmasks a vulnerability

will she, does he, when we, maybe

a november night rife with such possibility

 

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