LATE AGAIN
Awake with wine she waits beneath the scent
of hanging baskets for the midnight train
is late again. Alone in moonlight she sips
her wine, unzips her plastic purse, and files
her nails to convex curves. Time to observe
two lovers locking limbs in easy rhythms,
whispering words that bleed all day and night,
seep and seed desire upon the wasteland.
She stares away, emptying her glass, crosses
the line for the midnight train is here again.
BY
CRISPLEAVES
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