by Orel Protopopescu

(After “We Kiss in a Shadow,” Rogers and Hammerstein)

We meet on the sidelines.
We hide from the press.
Our meetings are few,
but more might be less.

We speak in a whisper
afraid of the spies
on your side and mine,
so make love with our eyes.

Alone with our secrets,
we barely touch hands—
mine small, but they still hold big keys.

Who locked up the future
for your sake and mine,
as temperatures rose by degrees?
Come rise, Vlad, on towers of sleaze!