“I don’t lose my temper.”

inspired by Campion’s Portrait of a Lady

Their kisses are raindrops,

A dampness here, there,

Then a multitude,

Soaking the streets,

Causing carriages to pause,

Their drivers taking cover.

 

Suddenly, she retreats.

“I don’t lose my temper, I find it,

Just as I don’t lose my mind.”

“I hope you don’t find it.”

“My temper?”

“Your mind.”

 

He takes her bodice,

A shoulder grasped in each hand.

“I do wish I could cry,” she says.

His hands relax.

“I do wish I loved you,” says he.

 

She turns,

Leans a gloved hand

Against the mantle.

He departs, the rains

Now a sprinkle, a driver

Retaking his reins.