Thursday, April 25, 2013

One stocking, then the other: a prayer

Layer by layer, she dances 
the ice into water, the ghosts 
of the year past into bend and sway,
in moods the color of shade,
the flavor of suppleness.

She catches your breath with the fervor
of sulphur orgasm
midair, all wings and torso,
blinking your lids, searching for 
fumbling sex in patches of dust and motes
of laughing sunbeam.

She tricks you 
into conversation, shows you an infant
 texture, tells you that you're the first,
and believing, you find yourself breaking
the silence that stands 
between the surface of your knees
and the ears of God.

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