poetry fix

He’s been devouring her

for years now – sometimes

voraciously still,

but more often

absentmindedly

like end-of-movie popcorn.

He never could say no to butter.

 

And when everyone else trades

artificial night for afternoon glare,

he sits motionless through the credits,

anchoring her with intertwined fingers,

hoping she still believes all they need

is a story in the dark.

                                                                               yvonne melania lieblein