steam

The heat only has a few ways to go,

to punish the flesh of tongue and lip,

to sulk together in the stubborn steel,

or step between matter’s stages,

ascend from the hot black coffee

into the wind whipped 

nymphs of playful, dancing steam,

tickling gray beard and

rueful smile alike 

ever the coquette, the delighted ingenue

spilling her traces and stirring 

her hair and her skirts,

the lilt of a just brushed lip

a kiss of condensation and 

the bright gaze of unseen eyes,

the breath of being easy

lingering inside of such beauty,

the loveliest belle laughing in your lap

knowing she’s yours for sure,

knowing for sure she’s gone—

this kiss, this touch,

this glimmer, this ghost—

this leaving that you love the most.