she just came to me
with a bag full of chestnuts
we got on a bus
       with a red bottle of champagne
and never returned
the bus rode by each vers of
       ours
of that graceful prose we were 
so entitled to live
each color outside our window
the same, but secretly different
secretly as to not cause conflict
we just sat there with our glasses
in hand

                      and our red bottle
in lap.  Life as simple as we could 
       make it.
The mischieveous words she spoke to
me through her now empty glass
spoke a truth now unknown to me
the words she spoke giving me
       chills as her breath fogged
       up her glass
the red bottle now finished
we just hang onto the window
watching everything below us
               fly past us
and never looking back
as temptation was one of our
       follies
no more words spoken
less but non none thought
nothing more left to say                 Except for the fact
                                         that she was lying
                                         about the chestnuts.. . . .;


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