Their lovemaking is as artificial
as an insemination and drier
than the sarcasm served hot
with each night’s dinner.
They smile, nod, drink coffee black,
manage to stay just ahead of the whirling
dust devil they kick-up as they run away
from constantly running away.
But, now and again,
there is backgammon on the loveseat,
a few laughs, and looks
that come from somewhere back in time.
Crack the Spine - Issue Sixty