Debra Pallone Parks
What she wanted was to grab her coat,
drive to Newson's Landing
where the wind bucks and chafes.
There he would smooth the flannel blanket,
sip cocoa as his free hand roamed her waist.
Instead, lanky cypress stand in a river
bed wasted by weeds and grass
and in the dark, before desire
cools back to stone, the stars
that are struck fall away and burn.
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