Wednesday, January 30, 2013

Pour Homme

The stillness ...
The coolish morning in the winter
smells like spring but
it's not quite here yet.

I dissolve into latte, and
don't wish to look back
under the night-sheets where
under raw flesh remains
the invisible woman.

Lavender breath, vanilla skin
marinated in Irish cream
and ... nuts.

Sometimes, I want to be a motorcycle -
polished and loved,
fixed and reassembled
down to the last screw ... but

a woman.

Published also by POETS' BASEMENT 


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