a stop
a poem by Lonnie Monka
are all parallel lines fully disconnected
just because they don't touch in space?
perception permits curious means of impression
at that Florentine bar of unknowns
after our lives crossed on the internet
we gradually met face to hesitant face
wafting waves of vanilla she blunted the bar musk
& I strained my vocal chords to scream
discovering the silent understanding in a stop
she smelled like my first love during sex
causing unvoiced requests for being bitten & scratched
to obsess me--to clench fistfuls of love-handles
her hand reached over to examine mine
"your intellectual line curves towards the emotional" she said
tracing my palm with her finger--"but they don't meet"
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