Quantum of Solace

sounds like the name
of a bad book of poetry,
yet, no, no,
it's an Ian Fleming short story:
  
the title a highly contingent algebraic formula
hypothesized by the Governor of the Bahamas
  
which affixes
an exact integer
to a sum
determining how a couple
ceases to care for one another.
  
Outside my window,
the November nimbus clouds
are moving fast and low,
  
another book of poems
is growing sideways out of a preposition,
and your breasts,
I can't remember them,
  
sort of like how James Bond
wouldn't remember,
cutting his Aston Martin's wheel hard,
exerting the machine to slither o so limber—
  
but maybe,
in a line's last throes,
the memory I will replay before unconsciousness
involves sliding my hands
around your back,
which is a rhombus,
  
braless,
a conundrum of ease,
olive.
Whoa Yeah Baby
Dave Landsberger
Landsberger_cover

Whoa Yeah Baby

Dave Landsberger

Floating Wolf Quarterly Cover_wolf