Deborah Landau: To the Couple Lingering on the Doorstep

Quit kissing beneath my window.

The day turns shady
as you lean
feeding, feeding.

Night arrives, red-gold
and windless

and still you persist.

I’ve had enough
slobber and gush.

And let me say this:

the problem with passion
isn’t that it doesn’t last
but that it does,

and you’ll find yourself alone in a room,
blistered and husky-voiced, watching
the side of your building turn to flame.

Beware a woman at a window,
something heavy in her hand.