8PM. The subway. The overheard conversations. They’re never about lemon trees. Someone’s friend’s boyfriend’s ex-girlfriend slept around. Someone put gum in someone’s hair. Someone tripped on their heels. Cats. Club nights. Ecstasy. Love...
...Ladies and Lovers, when tonight you meet in jazz,
pour yourself some of that celestial wine.
Take small sips. Laugh. Attract. Bask. Forget...
The stores are always on fire. But oh you look so good in that dress! Wow you changed your hair color! And your eyes too! I’m thinking of getting new lashes soon. And yes new nails. Are you seeing him anymore? ‘Cuz if you don’t I might...
...When she sipped, she sipped deep, so the wine and her lips
blended in one red lie. Turning in the Paris of his arms
she smiled red, and whispered in his ears, “L’amour passera”... *
It’s the end of a day. I’ve reached my stop. I get off the train. My hands feel cold and numb. I’m not, though. I walk an empty platform, thinking about lemon trees.
...The city neons pass him every night as he drives.
Once in a while he looks at the rear-view mirror:
“L’amour passera”. He tunes in to a slow jazz and smiles.
Symphony
26 August, '10
* Love will pass.


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