trompe-l'œil

over the course of fifteen minutes
i manage to position myself in the chair

in such a way that places the lamp
directly behind her, creating a silhouette,

a geometry that draws me away from
the conversation that the five of us drunks

are fumbling with. now it is me and her
dark shape or rather me watching her

dark shape, watching her perfect profile,
her lips moving like a magician's hands

pulling in the evening's raw ether
and doing impossible things to it within her,

seeing it emerge as something beautiful
and new, the room sizzling with the heat

of its creation, as lightning pushes the air apart
with thin hands only to have the chasm close

in on itself violently, thunder announcing
the blasphemy in creating such a void

with careless haste. her lips are quilting
intricate patterns and colors of thought,

a patchwork i will hang in that small room
of my mind where i retreat during storms.