an unrehearsed universe

Backseat

It was the finale and not what came before –
a rundown grind-house theatre,
a double creature feature.

It matters little that I knew the score –
a jewel-bedecked princess
in tricked-out ghetto excess.

Our bodies meet in the backseat
and love flows between us like honey
sticky sweet from dusk to dawn.

A vision of you and me, fantasies of us.

A light in the abyss, a shimmer in the mist
an ache across the receding shore, soft and low;
from your smiles my hope is born.

You whisper words that I adorn
with one hundred one thousand
one million meanings more.

‘I’ll see you again same time next week?’
A wayward tear trails down my cheek.

But I nod.  Unable to speak
I smile because I must –
a goodwill gesture, a sign of trust.

A voice announces, ‘Next time,
Blast from the Past.’

The theater shutters, the lights flutter
and money changes hands with little fuss.