There wasn’t anything to do, but watch
tv. The birds were the only things alive
outside and I didn’t want
them. On the screen
two lesbians kissing
bathed in firelight
which is a metaphor for French desire.
My fireplace was sealed, the birds
chittering away inside
and my candles were low.
Do all lovers feel they’re inventing something?
We never see them fuck. This is not for our
sexual gratification. The fire warms
their complexions, illuminates or darkens
the eye. I think of how you studied film,
hated French cinematography for its pretention,
hated lesbian sex scenes for their gentle caresses.
Why don’t they ever fuck?
I think of how long it’s been since I saw
firelight in an iris.
Moriah Bray is a PhD student at Georgia State University working on a manuscript of poetry in both English and Spanish. She also serves as the poetry editor of Exhume literary journal. When she’s not writing you can find her in a yoga flow or petting her cats.