One Of Those

Alone on a rooftop, laying next to some woman

My neck slips back at slope

To scope the domain we have claimed our own

But the terrain doesn’t shape to hold

Much save a wavering field of solar-geared panels

And a metal hatch bearing levers at its center

Now the horizon, without a plane to ascertain latitude,

Opens its eyes upon our vulnerable altitude

Stirs—just to slur of incoherent mutter—

The lady at my left who remains unfamiliar

Though I can only guess what secrets were exchanged

In hours where I bet we'd been intimately engaged

But the details don't matter

As I steal toward a ladder

And reel down the fire escape

To welcome another one of those days