Tabled I laid a beautiful spread on glass succulent olives—purple, green, and black, crusty French bread and raspberries, smoked mozzarella and fine red wine. Hours into the night, candles low and still no passionate touch, I asked - You still hungry? He hugged me goodbye backpack in hand— A kiss would have sufficed. I’m beginning to doubt my power. I've played this game to its logical conclusion Yet no logic exists. Wine does nothing to warm my ego. Tears crowd the spot that's marked "Do Not Pass Go." We’ll meet again soon, he said. Softly, stomach rumbling I closed the door. Marking Time Three months Pass us by Then crash! I tap your shoulder Mussels and mango salsa, pastries delicious in my street fair mouth Your eyes meet my polished purple toes. They dazzle and tempt. Let’s meet for a drink next month when I’m finished with my obligations… Again, no action after all this exposition.
Liz Axelrod is a graduate of the Riggio Honors Program: Writing and Democracy at The New School and is now studying for her MFA with a concentration in Poetry. She is now a Poetry Reader for LIT Magazine. Liz has been making the rounds of the NYC Poetry Circuit for close to a decade.
