Katrina Kaye

Love was not first sight
or even mid coil;
it came somewhere
after midnight,
before the dawn,
when we were both
slithering in
our own caves.

Love was scrolled on the
envelope, not the letter,
left on the doorstep,
not the night stand.

Love arrived retrospectively,
then hung around my neck,
an over-sized python,
slipping its forked
tongue around my ear.

It crept slow,
then consumed,
like the subconscious sway
of a charmer’s flute.

I tried to say it,
through casual conversation
and bites of my lower lip,
but by the time
I finally murmured,
I love you,
the only witness
was the steady hiss
of the dial tone.

“Afterthought” is previously published in They Don’t Make Memories Like That Anymore (2011).