He gives her everything he owns--all
his money, sending her back to Moscow,
wearing one red glove in a dimly lit train.
Sipping Remy Martin in the station café,
he remembers her worried hand dipping
sugar cubes into warm brandy, one by one,
her white body folding forward in a bed
of plum-blue sheets before opening into love.
But the sun flays like a sudden supernova,
a popping light bulb--going cold. Love,
--a rack of falling time bombs, he hurries
to leave it--holding the missing glove.
--thanks to Cody