An Opinion

I think the lovers are beautiful, and brave.

Who knows if the real world thinks this also,

the real world isn't taking any calls,

being occupied inventing thin, crookedly hung doors

opening onto unimagined darkness.

So much terror all around, so much scorn.

The lovers in rooms, February, May,

light of morning streaking the bare floors,

what they know of the real world

is in the fierce particulars:

cheekbone, hipbone,

flare of ruby on the throat, shuddering

in their bodies, eyes wide open.