I see a man so tender with his lover
that it makes my salivary glands ache
as though I’ve bitten into something
long craved, confectionery sweet.
They stroll around the lake, linked
in a half-embrace. She is older than I,
barefoot and wearing a flowing skirt.
They smile at a bride-to-be posing for photos
at sunset. I wonder if this is a Friday night date,
imbued with infatuation, or if theirs is a love
grown comfortable, seamed with passion
when seen beneath a certain light.
They are fluent in a language I don’t speak;
my ear can’t discern a single cognate.
Author Bio:
M. Stone is a bookworm, birdwatcher, and stargazer living in the foothills of the Blue Ridge Mountains. Her poems have appeared in San Pedro River Review, Star 82 Review, UCity Review, and numerous other journals. She is the author of the micro-chapbook Evolving God, published by Ghost City Press. Find her on Twitter @writermstone.
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