My Place

--My loft, and how
you came

over letting your coat go
as if it was your room

already! And what I was
doing there is

not clear
to me--now--nor

why I am
standing here dumb

lips shaping amazing words
that fall forth duds.

Breathless, my pulse
is doing a waltz

through this room
and very same

"bachelor apartment" air
where, O, you were.

The Atlantic Monthly; April 1996; My Place; Volume 277, No. 4; page 96.

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