She moves like winter
With kisses that burn as an open flame
And eyes like untempered strips of lighting.
She pauses to adjust the strap
Of her red Mary Janes, a cloud tucked
Into her right back pocket like a memo.
Her cold escapes me whenever she smiles.
The sun riven over a cup of tea
I watch her rise up on her toes
Drawing sparks from my grey eyes,
Sparks governed by rain,
Sparks that slash without remorse
My faltering pretensions of joy.
She stood a long time
On my shoulders, jaded
Passageways and intersections
My beloved and besieged
My uncompromising mistress
Delilah or Evangeline
Whatever her name
The dilemma remains.