It doesn’t take long to find a new lover.
He takes a Polaroid of me on the steps
of the chapel. My eyes are full of him. My fingernails
blue from putting my hands in my jeans.
He shakes the photo with two fingers,
the sun uglies me. He leaves
it on the table of candles where others
place coins and roses. When he grabs me
by the hair and shouts into
my mouth, a pearlescent filament
is strung between his body
and mine. I wake up on a crisp afternoon in November
with things to buy:
cheese and apples, chenin blanc, flowers.
