Expressions

In the last July the trees across the parapet of our balcony

Acted as canopies for hundreds of wet shivering birds

With hot springrolls we plonked into deep easy chairs

To watch waves after waves of silver rain

The night deepened and the fogs croaked in gusty unison

From shallow puddles on the edge of the street

She looked at me as though I was a slimy toad, in some way,

Connected to the throaty frogs from streetside puddles

The towel on her bunned hair came off suddenly

Releasing her silky hair into the pool of darkness

Between me and her was this inky curtain of darkness

Her lipsticked ruby lips twisted and curled in anger

Another time, another day, this slimy frog had entered her life

She snarled at me and looked through her spit-fire eyes

Where were the little flakes of snowy promises

That had glistened in the amber afternoon sun in my tousled hair

Then I was walking about in the woods with a halo of knowingness

These little flakes melted in thin streamlets of airy nothingness

Forming moist pearldrops on the frogback of my carnality

At the dead of the night the frogs stopped croaking readying to sleep

I dared not look at her luminescent forehead where lay my innermost secrets.

She looked through the corners of her eyes

The hemline of her frock went up and down

As the mock-intensity of his gaze unsettled her

He now smelled of musty caves hiding heaps of bats

Then he had smelled of freshly bedewed grass

Enough were the chemical exchanges between them

A thousand doubts wracked his brains and hers too

Their summer-hot bodies intertwined meaninglessly

His hairy arms covered the down of her belly

Her glassy eyes pretended to half-close in rapture

The soft silky sheets of yesterday were there all over

The florals on the calico faded to a kitschy mixture

Then his throaty voice floated on rooftops and palmfronds

Like golden-winged butterflies drunk with viscous nectar

The ceiling fan whirred listlessly from the wooden ceiling

The lizard stuck its tongue out to catch the unwary moth

It is all over. She muttered softly under her breath.

I see an aura of death and the holes of his eyes were full of it.

I can even smell death in the folds of his clothes.