It's Still Life

Tightrope

And there we were
pinching dark to the dark,
stars to the night,
like moths in love with street lamps.
We walked a tightrope-narrow path
in search of a clearing
amongst the bracken
to take a pee.

“Did you bring toilet paper?” she asked.

And I toppled over,
laughing.

To her, to whom a thousand kisses traced her face; to her, who could set my voice to bellow; to her, who is without end — I miss your eyes.