Demi-gods
talk
perversely
outside
my window.
He lives next door.
She lives down the street.
The other lives two streets down.
Her best friend is from another street.
His cousin is from out of town.
Old
friends come together unaware
of the
burgeoning tension between them.
Fast friends quick to become long lovers,
flip a coin and take a guess.
Who’s the romantic?
Who’s the rapist?
One or the other,
all or nothing till the end.
Her tone
of voice is the martyr.
His words hint at a new found sexuality.
Laugh, curse, and make up lies.
Hearing
their rituals outside the window.
I
see commercial colored fantasies
of
youthful orgies on fresh fruit
and unpolluted swims at the
local watering hole.
There is no one left alive
to remember such antiquities.
Was their ever?
Catch
the sun.
Take it
down.
Pass it
around.
The cup
of tomorrow has turned over.
Drink
today while the going is good.
They’ll
know each other before the end.
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