Lights On

For lack of something better to do
I waited tonight till the darkness fell,
And went out to count the street lights
That line the walkway along the park.
Haven't had much else to occupy me
Since the last time I saw you. Was it the bar?
Or the movies? The backseat of my car?
Guess it really doesn't matter
When I'm alone for a good reason or two.
But tonight it felt rather strange.
Alas, my long-stemmed beauty, smelling sweet,
Your petals unfolding in a pattern complete,
You have all the looks, the style and grace,
But nothing of substance and I am amazed.
When I ask of the future, you have not a clue,
And when out on a date only I knew what to do.
Your back arched, yours lips parted,
They quivered too; you swore hoarsely,
But when we were through
You couldn't speak of what we had done,
As if it had been someone else and not you.
There was nothing else we could talk about,
No thoughts we could share,
Beyond your high cheekbones and your sweet little pair.
With our love-making over, when things are discussed,
There must be a subject other than our own lust.
So tonight I counted street lights and thought of this poem,
How your lights are turned on but no one is home.