Arboretum Nights
By Andrea Varga

From the depths of my womanliness
came the indecision
that confused bodiness with sweet words
and want-nows with maybe-next-times.

Erupted like a dying star
my desire to please,
my eagerness to become him.

We laid in the snow caressed by dying trees.
Just a quilt kept the distance
between us and the ghosts
of the late-fall night.
Shouted at by winds, warmed by his hands
under my skirt
I kissed away my faithfulness to myself
onto the face of Janus.