Apartment 5

Last night, I looked outside the window 
from apartment 5. 
I took in the smell of moonlight: 
dried up husks; rainy dew; 
cardamom? 

I heard footsteps-
the honks of traffic lights. 
Red. Green. 
Clattering in the kitchen-
the bed was empty.
I was here. No wife.

The air grew cold: it was summer. 
I bit my nails, 
the footsteps 
grow louder, 
despite the honks. 
I closed 
the window.

She came from behind, 
the smell of blood. 
I screamed, but laughter: 
she handed me a cup of tea.