A fine-looking woman rushed me
with a throng of blooming red tulips.
She kept showing up without respite,
dressed in a form-fitting wool dress.
Her secret scent projected the heat
of quivering thighs. Her index finger
motioned me to follow her to a place
of stillness where there’s no today
or tomorrow—and secret stones
sleep in silence.
When she gave me the key
to the last droplet of life,
I threw it away.