Freckles

I told her to stop counting her tears like steps
behind her exodus from dependence

and just tell me already. My ears and eyes
sought subtleties to appetize my idling.

we lay for ninety three minutes in speaklessness,
beside gasps and dashes of beginning syllables

darted from initiation to conclusion. Her
tears ran from the backdoors of her eyes

and into the alleys of her hair and bridges
of her nose, the red of her eyes glowing Amsterdam.

My eyes were closed all the while since there
was little to appreciate beside her sadness and

the overcast skies of an early New York autumn. How
apropos the lighting for the dollhousesize conversation.

"You already know." No, I didn't, I don't, we never do.
Men are deficient in many ways, and filling those knows

is one of them. Tell us, women, outright like a child.
Gentle weeps can mean death, parents, or bloating.

I wanted to play the part in interrogation of a
compassionate fool, and chose to scream instead,

whispering "I don't think you realize how goddamn
annoying and frustrating it is to leave me like this!"

And I had meant to leave me sitting in anxiety,
but she replied punctually "h-How d'you know?"