Saturday Night

“I hear you” he said
before her words fell.
Quickly his hand responds
pouring wine into mouth,
drowning the tears before they break.

Sunlight fades a crowded bar
He cries to a bathroom mirror,
making public
a windowless face.

His words start to slur, tumbling
upward to a studio apartment.
“Just friends” she says,
following him home.

Collapsing from heat break
and drunk with passion,
he nearly dies lying next to her.

He falls asleep watching
dreams in her eyes.

Morning sunrise through curtains
wakes his tear stained face;
yesterday’s convulsions keep him still.

“She moved on” he thinks,
“another boy has come along.”
But hope took hold of him,
put love into his heart.

Over breakfast they stroll,
the past comes round.
They smile not caring to hide love;
too giddy to notice the glowers.

Everything that goes up, comes down,
and must go up again,
like stars of a clear night’s sky.
She blew kisses out her car window,
he captures love in his hands.

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