blur

in the violet cotton dress,

I watched you fly around the corner,

blurring as you disappeared

into the North End maze,

or perhaps a West Village side street,

maybe Greenwhich Ave where

I shared a Bisteca

with oyster mushrooms

and a semi-froid mousse

with 4 strawberries --

perfect for splitting.

four white walls outlining

a home but not,

I pushed up against a moment

of resistance repeatedly jamming

a key into a hole

that refused to transform

into an Alice lock --

I looked for the potion

but couldn’t discover the fantasy

crossing his lips like a whisper,

the ghosts of the beautiful, silken lies

I so loved to believe,

and despite the unreality,

was again caught in his spider web

until my breath was squeezed right out

and I was left gasping

for the promise,

only the shell of my body left,

the insides sucked dry --

repeated patterns of false hope.