Bodies of Conversation

Leg over leg,
layer upon layer.

Lovers.

In the gazing silence there is still conversation.
Her eyes leave his and his follow
as she, at the peak of his nose, recalls to him
with the faintest smile then bitten lip
of when she knew, all those months ago;

that she reached the summit first,
how they stopped to survey the scarred valley
And that it was then that she decided.

He reminds her, catching up
at his unshaven cheek — her dimple,
that he thought it was after, when he asked to join her table
in the corner at the quaint coffee shop
at the slate foot of the mountain.

Their pupils dilate as one
and they let each other know
with the flush of pink that promises more.
I took you to lunch, he blinks.
I took you to bed, her eyes open
and he wills her pout to part again.
It does, clinging dryly and
he closes his eyes.

There is no feint when in the moment
she chooses to check this kiss with words:
OK, but you know it’s over, don’t you?