Unknown

Venus would not speak to me for weeks

after I had mentioned his temper

and how his hands burned on my hips,

the pressure curling around my bones.

But I saw him in Copenhagen,

drinking his nitrogen espresso.

His face smoothed when he saw me,

but I could feel him simmering.

I had liked the feel of him, but maybe

he did not like the feel of me.

The water swirled the boats between us

when he looked away. Clouds painted

his skin opaque and I slipped back

into the afternoon crowd.