In early October, I sit in the dog run alongside a crab spider,
in the center of its silk disc that arcs the sunlight
upon its rim, the spider a nucleus at the maypole
of its silver cells. I think of us, at the kernel of our lives,
in Lake Worth yesterday, returned to the same bench
where we sat three years ago, at the beginning
of our affair. Our figures tinted sepia in the darkened panels
of the bookstore, like gazing upon our reflections
in a cup of tea. My leg swung over yours, both of us
seemed fuller, your belly over your gym shorts,
my face appearing rounded, as if we brimmed
with the abundance of our lives, the way the autumn sky
billowed open over the scalloped rooftops.
Your fingers toyed with the chopped bits of my hair,
the musk of espresso on your breath as your voice
fell in my ear like a gold bar. I wanted to tell you:
I’m glad I did it, Lake Avenue empty around us,
the awnings of the abandoned bars riding the wind
as sails, like the chaos blown out from our lives.
Your lips pressed to my temple in the briny windows,
the dust of the panes glittering like sun-stars,
our figures transposed over two story bookshelves,
the fractal cells of our life visible to those around us
only in the granular skirt of the sunlight,
my forehead falling to the warm curve of your neck,
and your hand resting between my thighs,
like a bookmark holding time.

Amanda Leal is a 30-year-old poet from Lake Worth, FL. Her work has been featured or is forthcoming in Poet Lore, Tampa Review, Twyckenham Notes and many others. She is currently looking for a home for her first manuscript of poems, ‘Bellflowers.’ More: Instagram @dissociative.disco & @aliceinpoetry