Elizabeth Caldwell Grant

Like a pumice raft,
their on-screen
lovers quarrel
bobs atop a current
of sexual tension.

Shouldn’t our blowup,
if ever portrayed
in film,
also foretell
of a steamy kiss?

Yet your molten anger
and flowing contempt
cues only
the silent eruption
of my heart.

Is my scriptwriter on strike?
Can I request a rewrite?

I thought I was being cast
in a romantic comedy,
yet I find myself
curled
in fetal position
being buried in ash.