A new poem


There are no rules. There must be rules. Our dance
hand touches hand withdraws. Eyelash on cheek
Diffident. I once knew, forgot, my Greek
Have to relearn this language of romance

Archaic yet new-minted. Dreams that fade
in halflight scrawl graffiti in tired eyes
deciphered dusty subtext of your sighs
and whispers. We negotiate a trade

in glances slyness charm, in words that slink
like urban foxes, seen a second, gone
nervous proud flirting. Both of us will run
from sight, and then be there, next time we blink.

I step you weave around. Turn pirouette
These gestures mean themselves, no more. And yet…

About rozkaveney

Middleaged, trans, novelist, poet, activist
This entry was posted in Uncategorized. Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s