and then, atop a mess of
soaked Egyptian cotton, while
water trickled from
the overturned bedside vase, and
as if discovering a spring after
a week without water in the Sahara
Remy and Anäis devoured each other
playing one another
like musical instruments
him the sax and her the violin
their harmonics blending in
rainbow explosions that
raised neighbors’ eyebrows
rattled the Royal Doulton and
rippled the orange pekoe at
the church ladies’ party two doors down,
sending parents’ hands onto childrens’ ears and
blowing Anäis’ neural circuits such that
she felt launched into
an infinite space and knew
neither where nor who she was
and in the flat at the end of the hall
old Mathilde’s lips curled into
a knowing smile
– Paul Raworth Bennett
