The Parking Lot
Something about the way your hand moved against
the moonstone of my cheek, as we stood amidst a world
of curious eyes- people, who would have damned us
had they known I was your lover, not your wife.
And when the evening shadows began their entry,
every streetlight acted as a jealous God
who would stop at nothing to expose our sin.
It was Saturday, at the end of that cul de sac
and we watched as stars drank so much sky
they started to dance a waltz of insanity,
and my mind, I have to admit
stumbled around in my head, like an alcoholic
who had made it a lifelong practice of abusing the bottle.
Or maybe it was just the way you looked at me
with those infinite eyes, as though you were seeing something
beyond what 23 years can create; perhaps the woman
you had loved for lifetimes, before and after our banishment
and the scars of the flaming swords.