April 4th, poem number four

Fait accompli

When her hand reached
Across the table and
Ever so quickly touched
My own, darting like
A hummingbird to nectar,
And ventricles jumped as
Grasshoppers do
In the summer crepuscular,
Her skin against the white
Sweater, in the red barroom
light and wash of voices,
It was at this moment,
My friends, when the dread
And horror was apparent
Knowing that the fact
Had been accomplished
And that true doom
Was imminent.