Two

at the door
in the dark
she pushes her head forth to me
I turn my ear to listen
and a breeze leaves
her hollow mouth
rolling off her soft glossy lips:
"Your poem was beautiful".
I can not see her pollinated, fluttering eyes
but I know they are too.

The other, standing at her right
lively
energy
voice
says: "Yeah, great."

I say "thanks" and leave.

I run to make the call
throw myself past the hubcaps of a car,
dial
speak
phone left hanging
run back through
that unchanging red light
into the Knitting Facotry
stepping down the stairs into
the back room.

They are waiting at the door.
I give an intense, omniscient deep-staring deep-fried
glance
with my eyes.
a quirk of a smile
with my dry, wanting lips.

I sit,
enjoy the symbiotic feature poet.

They are gone
when the reading is over.

I ride the subway home
scribbling in my notebook.