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words drip from the faucet reciever
legs ajar
the rise found with wrist
and fingertips

finding push button long distant calls
on the local carrier

He's bored..running paperwork files
smoking a cigarette
and balancing a jug
sucking hungry
feeling the glow slip down
harsh and settle roaring
like a slow fire

the nudge against his thigh
the black worn jeans
a smile growing hearing
the sweet voice
the gameplay

His long hand on her
face as she slept then
against the couchs rounded
her long dyed red hair
arched down her thin neck
her shoulderblades
and sweater
one leg curled up against
her and a steady warm foot
against his thigh then
the contact
not shy
not pressuring
the quiet in the room
the television
scolling movie offerings
the trucks shifting
the jake brakes shaking
the entire little group
of white shacks

They are scratching a new
page with their old deals
his wife waiting at him
her interest still not finished
with his woman
not yet calling
to arrive ten minutes
they have ten

the little heater fan
throwing heat in the
the little lamps
casting light
a warm poverty

he stretches rising
hearing the rain
on the spokes of his
bike leaning against
the wall
outside the door
the window

she stirs
and he says goodnight
and bends over her
her entire length
and kisses the round
exposed tender
soft ear

a thousand rains
have fallen in the
the unspoken

potent and alive
is stirring
and heartbreaking
and out of control
and sad

he returns next evening
and meet at the door
they walk across the
busy highway
crossings with others
hand in hand
he holds her hand
down the little embankment
to the store
she orders and he holds
the bag..holding his hand
and he falls
she laughs and she
helps him up
he helps her down the
hill and up..and the evening
rush hour in the lights
goes slowly by seeing
them holding hands
she hangs on to his
to the lights
and across the street
across the little on ramp
the the apartments

they dont care

start a rumor
the old loves are dying
so much distance
in them already
the heartache
a fire gutted the trusts
the trusses falling

the kids come to visit
her and show them
the selfies and posts
and chit chat
no screen the
window like an aperature
of chat and logic
an old tyme thing

then they are gone
tell them to be careful
and they are brave
and watch each other

the part
but part of them
draws near something
more and more

the timid creatures
in the touches
blazing a new


Editing stage: 


Sorry that this poem ended up on the lonely list for so long. It shouldn't be. It's captivating from beginning to end. It's more enjoyable than most of the love stories and romantic comedies I've ever encountered. It feels very real in a way those stories and movies try to hard to achieve but always fall short on. All the little details and the moments, sometimes sweet, sometimes funny, sometimes just mundane, make it more real and easier to relate to.

Take care,

Critique, don't comment.
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