by Angela Hamon

How does one know when a new
Lover has made him forget the one before?
Insidious kindness creeping in, endearing
Her interest lies in him, not his origin
It matters not what war-torn country
He has fled or the colour of his skin
How does one know he is falling
If he can't even remember how the first
Conversation was struck
Not imagining a time without her
By the time he knows he's fallen he has
Already landed
On piles of love scented sheets just dreaming
Of having her there again.

Copyright 2021 by Red River Review. First Rights Reserved. All other rights revert to the authors.
No work may be reproduced or republished without the express written consent of the author.