I seek ablution in the coffee shop.

weathered with the patina of use,
this black orb tells all.
murky blue water with rejoinder:
“don’t count on it”

wash me in the water

distracted by the dragonfly
lavishly detailed on her breasts,
I gaze at my shoelaces, untied.
she reminds me “it’s always right”

temporary as the dew

walking away with my obligations,
I laugh at the simplicity of the morning.
grasp my keys with creative fingertips
and scratch through sexed hair

tears are never descriptive enough, apparently

windshield wipers swipe the morning off
I clear my throat of debris and pride.
your scent invades my car, my fingers
are the incense of musky distrust.

at least there was no soggy parking ticket.

© Tom Watters 5/7/08