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Richard Dinges, Jr. |
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Late Spring Flowers Do not ignore, my friend, the power in a glance from across the fence, into another yard where other wives tend perennials under a hot sun. Sweat's sheen glistens above a dark eye and the roar unheard when lips move around a word not spoken. Dare to derive a sentence uttered by a tongue hidden within its own damp heat, or simply sit back and watch sunbathers bake tan on gray concrete. In the air today wafts the fragrance that harms those who breathe too deep. Now when we meet Beige walls surround unbleached wool with a hint of pastel. Forest green paper borders textured ceiling. I sit in a bland but true box with square corners that cages passion muted beneath a layer of fornication. We stare into each other in the dark. Street lamp shines through the window from below to pool above us, when we tremble together again. Crosswalk I walk the street lined with malls and no sidewalk. Cars have no shape, mass and sound that equal fear of movement. Sharp streaks steal into hard glass panes that slice my voice from my tongue. Eyes freeze in sockets, even with the right of way between painted lines. I can see no face through the windshield that glares a painful sun. The ache of headlights glints suddenly across a chrome grill and sears my eyes before I can close them. In the darkness, concrete feels cold against my cheek, when all cars stop and quiet descends into a vacuum deep enough to fall asleep. |