All the love scenes in the world
are the same.
The boy and girl,
I could say man and woman
but with love you’re always young,
the curtain rises
on the boy and girl in bed
clothed in whatever
the current censorship allows
they speak:
She: Darling.
He: Darling.
She: Sweetheart.
He: My Love.
She: Hold me.
He: I am.
They embrace.
She says: Should we pull down the curtain?
gesturing toward the audience.
No,
he says,
pretending there’s no one there,
I’m not pretending.
She says:
There’s no one else but you.
Kiss me.
They kiss.
Embrace.
Kiss.
Keep kissing.
The audience leans forward.
She: Stay like this forever.
He: I will.
She: Don’t go.
He: I won’t.
They hug. They kiss.
Each actor likes this part.
They’ve rehearsed it for hours.
He: All the love scenes in the world
are in this moment.
She: Stop talking.
They embrace, kiss.
The curtain falls,
Rises.
They’re still kissing.
Curtain falls,
Rises.
They haven’t moved.
Curtain falls,
Rises.
The stage is empty.
They appear from opposite directions
and sit down to breakfast.
Curtain.
The audience applauds,
dry their eyes,
keep clapping.