two winged bugs connected by a sex act

two winged bugs connected by a sex act

at first i thought it was shiny dirt,
something caught by the sun
round southwest of my hot coffee.

so i brought my eyes closer,
my head shade effectively
dimming the lights,
for these two love bugs.

they look the same:
sleek black and winged,
unified,
by something telescopic.

it’s hard to tell which is the giver,
and which the receiver.

as it often can be,
with these Saturday morning city couples.

like the couple in the fifties,
with matching shoes, bags
and fatigue.
he grabbing at her behind
on an escalator,
slaps of ownership,
like the dark, worn caress
of a horse breeder,
or the clumsy, raw beef hands
of a butcher.

it’s Saturday,
in the fourth largest city in the U.K.
you have to expect these kinds of things.