It begins with a low rumble
as when water starts to boil,
when pearls of bubbles rise:
she raises a question, and he
replies with a degree of heat
in his voice, and soon the air
is steaming, the words roiling
almost to a shriek. But in a second
the temperature drops and all
that remains is a fog on the inner
pane of the kitchen window,
where a finger could trace a heart.
Nincsenek megjegyzések:
Megjegyzés küldése