Heaven

She walks with hard panache and sways
along the steely University Ave Bridge
just moments after the sun has risen.

I only see her now because the light
is hidden behind the smoke stack
at Wannalancit -- and she is impossible to ignore.

It is a whisp of a second, that she misses
and I endure. The tawdry tip of the tail
of the telling of my life - amputated

Her red shorts trail off in my mirror
as I turn away and think of when
my true love walked that same path

She sashayed along in the quiet bliss
of youth: perky breasts, smooth sleek
curve of hips and laughter

-- what of love then?
What of love now?
Later, when I see her

walk into the room with tussled hair
and vitriole from another day like
all the other days washing away

down the urinal. I say, "How are you
my love?" and see
her hips gentle back and forth

they scream of once-sexy
twice-sexy, perfect now
and I remember what of Love.

I remember why the red shorts
and panache fade away
so quickly.