smokescreen

On a dark veranda
across the lawn,
a signal fire has been lit.

Clutched in cupped fingers
it rises and falls, an arcturian star
lighting a path from lips to thigh.
wax and wane
inhale, exhale

I track the torch bearer's
meandering course 'round the patio
by way of the glowing ember.
back and forth
rise, fall
wax, wane

Silently waiting and wondering
behind his penumbral smokescreen--
is this the night
I'll cross the lawn
and cross the line?

Sudden final flare;
a tiny meteor arcs its way to earth
returning veranda to darkness.

The door closes behind him.
A single bead of sweat slides between my breasts;
the fantasy of a nicotine-stained finger in its place.