Concurrent
Should glasses spill:
Set on a sink's porcelain edge,
as I reach for the spicket
and tipped accidentally over...
Rush of water and the will
of weight within air
dropping
a tad of pandemonium
as they touch.
Two lenses perhaps dissolving
on the tile floor-
crisp vision turns to mist:
My glasses melting
in a tryst.
March 1991 Thalia- Anthology; Mile High Poetry Society
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