morning's slow roast (yet another poem)

He knows nothing of her lovers from abroad, and she’s not at liberty to disclose-
just a fresh copy of the “Times” is happiness in his wilted hands-
her cell phone has worn a grove in her left earlobe that well resembles Lake Michigan-
its won one could say-
a technological struggle for sentience, long overlooked-
she’s originally from a petit mountain town in the icy northern reaches of Manitoba-
in a near-by city a “famous person” who goes by the name Timothy once said,
“turn on, tune in, drop out”
neither of them subscribe to that idealism-
nor any tame rendition thereof-
on the contrary, both toiled long to reach their coveted strata-
neither can hear the rushing life of spring-
the pair together have more capital than the U.S. state of Mississippi-
they may have lost the smile for looking at other people-
each other included-
but they’re very sorry for that-
what they have now is to combine and hold still-
breath in and feel it for the first time in years-
she remembers his mother’s maiden name
the two are on their way to the beach