Circles in the Shade

No more surprises. Hands made of clay shaped by the force of surrender. The feathers of his promise straining for flight against an ambivalent wind. I tried to let it go. Cut the moon out of its starry casket. But the scissors have failed me. As from behind I try their blade.

He took a drag on his beer and asked what I'd be doing tomorrow. I just shrugged and nodded toward window. Something out there. Where I chase myself. Because no one else knows who I am.

It must've been his skin still caught under my tongue. Because as he turned to ask his next question I tasted it before he'd put it on my plate. The more I ate the hungrier I became.

It was too quiet as we pulled out of the parking lot. The wink of the right turn signal inviting so much risk. It was better then I think. When I had the hurt to look forward to. All that melting ice cream to lick.

No more surprises I thought as he said he had to go.