after.

then i began to see lights

behind her head. a halo.

and when she moved 

her head, it floated, 

jumping suddenly, 

above and back.

i saw it, still, like 

the fog outside, 

down the steps,

where the people gathered,

lathered and chattered.

and while they smiled,

smoothly like happy children,

we watched glowing

street lamps,

and thought, yes,

they're pretty.

my eyes, stuck.

at her voice, i began

to see lighted shadows

behind her head, like

ghosts 

with attention deficit disorder.

her voice, startlingly small

for her rounded eyes, glassy,

pretty. too perfect,

too small. too cute. and

if she tried

to step inside

her words would take her

to the dollhouse

where she would sit.

and sit. (and make love.)

too perfect,

like the drops of moisture

we could not see,

under the street lamps.

but at night, in a world

of small voices, and

halos, we felt our throats

and heard your inhales,

your lips, parted,

and mine,

screwed,

your eyes on her,

and mine on you.