Vanishing Point

​

Street-lamp beams converge

Somewhere in the mid-distance

On the interstate.

​

We oughta meet there

Beside that blue column of

Mercury vapor haze.

​

I'll stand in the dark

And suggest you step forward

'Til you're silver-trimmed.

​

You'll take a few steps

Then turn and offer your palm 

In invitation. 

​

I'll be hesitant

Because you know I don't dance

But I still may reach.

​

You'll smile so coyly

With your lips so gently pressed

That breaths still flow through.

​

I'll stand there half-lit

And follow the fog you make

Up toward the bulb.

​

You'll swallow a tear

You kissed surreptitiously 

From your lower lip. 

​

I'll shiver and chew

The same pain you just tasted

Then pocket my hand. 

​

You'll let fall your own

Alongside another tear

Which stains the asphalt.

​

I'll stand in the dark

And suggest you step forward 

'Til we're as we've been.

​

Two parallel things

Moving forward but not close

At similar speeds.

​

No lamp beams converge 

On this length of interstate;

All an illusion.