"She asks for poetry..."
She asks for poetry as if it’s mine
to give. She’s quiet when I ask her for a name.
Her perfume spreads and I become entwined.
Ten years and we are strangers all the same.
Her smile hides in a Venetian mask.
In a parade of angels, she goes missing.
Emerging in past tense, I’m reminiscing
of all the questions that we never asked.