A Poem for Marc

Accidents happen.

We met.

Why did you stop to tell me
Your name meant the water of life?
Why did I laugh
And ask you for a drink?
Why did our tongues touch,
My hand sliding in your back pocket,
Yours creeping under my warm,
Nubby sweater?

A pair as mismatched as
Europa and the bull--
One brief intermingling
Was the pinnacle of all
Our possibilities
Past and future.

Why does one harvest a grape
That sours overnight?


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