reaching the end of a poem
might feel like the imprint
soon to be left by a beautiful woman
on your lap
(allowing to show a bit
of what clothes attempt to hide)
it might feel like the tension between
her walking away
and you holding tight
or pondering whether you just heard
a goshawk seeking a mate
or dinner
even, perhaps, the feeling that remains
when returning home
you find out that someone came and left
and you weren't there.
