And she kissed me, or asked me to kiss her,
on the jungle gym in the school playground
up the street from where I used to live. Down
the hill, the lake sat like a mirror, blurred
by hazy moonlight. Later, several nights
as we lay naked in my bed, she rolled
away and whispered it. And when she told
me what it was she'd done, all of the lights
went dark for a moment. I held her hands
and they sat small in mine. I couldn't eat
my eggs. When we walked out into the heat
I stood, watched her go back to her husband.
I tried to catch her face, but couldn't see
her through the glare the sun cast on the screen.
And in that flash I understood that love
can never be controlled. When I walked in
She had the table set with dinner, wine
already poured, but nothing was enough
to keep me there. And on the mountain road
The moon, two thirds and waning in the east,
was watching as the rabbit ran beneath
the wheels. She gasped, her fist clenched, but we drove
on still. We took turns singing songs until
the two-lane drive turned into freeway lights.
It makes no sense, yet, somewhere in the night,
I loved her, lost her, all against my will,
in spite of things that make an ounce of sense,
And always without asking my consent.