Prisms

We make excuses for our love,
for any chance to sit beside
or qualify another ride
into the city’s heart;

we are the blood, the pulse, the red
and present danger, underneath
and lingering in lingerie,
and glassy irises, stones in hand,

a parallel refraction splits
in prisms from our diamond gaze,
unbreakable, save for the brief
and soft together that closed our eyes.