the music librarian and I
make love
no - we fuck
even divorced Catholics know God can see in the dark
as morning breaks
I listen to the music librarian’s measured breathing
counting the hours until daylight
while silently rehearsing my goodbye
as morning breaks I watch each breath of the music librarian
move great quantities of dust
I survey my third floor walkup
a trail of beer bottles encircling the discarded clothes of strangers
rain pouring through a broken skylight
a table made of bricks with my children’s pictures
safe in their suburban home
I smile to myself
as I glimpse at the mattress from Goodwill
with pictures of cowboys and Indians
until the music librarian wakes up startled
then stares at me as if she is trying to see what I’m thinking
we make small talk until she has to go
I open the door and mouth,” Let’s get together again.”
our intimate evening turned as stale as the faded hallway carpet
both knowing our time together has passed forever.