Mirage

Their glances connect, turning sparks
into thunder. A blinding flash
of binding eyes ends with a flinch.
He doesn’t see her when he looks
again. Lightning never strikes twice,
but thunderstorms never subside.
Even as Skillet plays their set,
his basest desire swallows up
the bass and treble, wooing crowds,
too loud for rock concerts to snuff.
The trophy pawn he brought along
gets lost with other faces. Fair
attractions aren’t so attractive
when the manure air reminds him
what he has left after she’s gone:
a wisp of fragrance rubbed on him,
a scrapbook with precious moments.
She stands in the crowd. He knows it,
but after every song, the chance
to find her shrinks. The chance to be
with her gets lost in other dreams.

Critique

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