Like a pumice raft,
their on-screen
lover’s quarrel
bobs atop a current
of sexual tension.
Shouldn’t our blowup,
if ever portrayed
in film,
also foretell
of a steamy kiss?
Yet your molten anger
and flowing contempt
cues only
the silent eruption
of my heart.
Is my scriptwriter on strike?
Can I request a rewrite?
I thought I was being cast
in a romantic comedy,
yet I find myself
curled
in fetal position
being buried in ash.
9/20/2013 ~ Elizabeth Caldwell Grant
