AFTERMATH
Richard Fein
Her lips
are drawn tight.
Her eyes
are turned away.
Sunlight exposes
pimples on our skins
which
we had not noticed
the night before.
Everything
we said
was said
to create the moment
which just ended.
She rises
and opens the blinds.
The morning glare
blinds me.
Her nude form
no longer
lures my eyes,
and she is quickly
gathering her things.
Alone
I lie uncovered.
The blanket lies limp
off the side of the bed.
