[untitled]

He is nearly on time.
He smiles.
We talk of rents, deposits.
He laughs about a former lover,
I earnestly explain the thermostat.
He says he’s very interested.
I pass him, feeling a wave of heat,
to go into the kitchen.
He follows, and we discuss our sleeping habits.

When he is gone,
I stand, holding the back of this wooden chair,
trying to catch my breath.

[Los Angeles, 1/10-2/26/90]