from beauty, onward
it is strange to
see you, now,
so old grown from
sixteen
a pale woman of youth and
no colour
undressing at the window
undiminished and erotic
alcohol scented on
your skin
the very eagerness evident and ready
in the curve of your frame,
the slack of your
spine
the gaping maw and wound
of his need for you
i observe to you
how the purple flower blooms
so delicate
under your sill
those you planted yourself
pressing your thumbs
into the sharp still-damp
earth
and when his
jaw is open
he talks words
(but they are
not about me)
and you!
a woman of the sea
in both colour and
rapture.
Any and all comments and criticisms are welcome and appreciated. :)