not a story, but 250 words

Blue raincoat, bought with borrowed money,
there’s l.cohen there, asking for charity
and a strong hand, holding a weak cigarette
that’s asking for mercy.

You dance through the night,
with your dress twirling in the wind,
say you don’t mind interruptions
as long as they turn out in your favor.

You take my hand
in a forgotten waltz
with longing in your voice
and forget in your heart.

We stomp the steps
with our weak feet
laugh at our discontent
and murmur about cigarettes
left in the car.

Find the ambers red
and the smoke heavy
with exhaled explanations
and lovely devices
for welcoming morning.

Past 7 am and you still mention
the wisdom of our elders
when they chose to settle in
uncomfortable winters and
terrible summers.

Love has distant embraces
embedded within-
we test it when your plane
leaves from the races
whisking you off too another coast
and leaves me alone to simmer

in the heat of summer
I create another theory-
one which embraces you in the morning
and longs in the evening.

One where life is part of the combination
things said and felt
through the bones of weary listeners
down in the wishing well.

We welcome love as it kisses our hearts
and leave when the cold sets in.
We welcome ourselves in the mirror
and our partners in the minds eye
which defines how we see.

We welcome love when it arrives with roses
burgundy in color and fate blinded
from the rest.