Francine Witte ________________________________ Late August Evening Blue moon in the sky, full for the second time this month. Just like us, meeting for another try at love. We sit at our favorite restaurant, order our favorite meal – garlic pasta, buttery bread and halfway through you are certain it’s over. The rest of our dinner going untouched and me watching your face, now fallen out of love, your voice talking about everything that isn’t us. The waiter remembers our favorite dessert—tiramisu and two romantic spoons. I want to warn the knowing smile from his face. Instead, I take a bite, sweetness going dead on my tongue. I look at your hands, skittery birds about to fly. Meanwhile, outside, the second chance moon continues to shine, flickering in and out of the sky, hidden, then not, behind a balled-up fist of clouds.
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