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Tuesday, August 30, 2011


How do you tell a woman
That you want her to be
Your muse?
That you have imagined the
Cracked and dry flesh of your
Rigid hand
Pressed firmly on her thigh
That you can almost smell the succulent
Natural smell of her skin
Woman mixed with shampoo
A hint of talc

A microscopic layer of sweat created
From the humid, post monsoon
Air presents an imagined aroma of
Do you look her in the eyes
Grab her hand
Better still, slide one hand to
The small of her back

Ask her to walk with you
To imagine
That the world ends tomorrow
And the only way to save the planet is to
Stop time
To be in the moment

Is it ok to tell her that you
Want to survey her body with
Your finger tips
With your tongue
With your body
With your essence
Or are you a gentleman
A gentle man
On the precipice of
Spontaneous combustion
At the thought of her
Yet steadfast in your resolve
To hold it together
See her as a woman and
As an adventure
See her as a thinker and
A something to be thought about

Do you hope that she reads your words
That those words make her smile
And that though your hands-
Still rigid and absent of her touch-
Lost in the longing for her proximity
Would settle for a smile
Do you tell her that she
Has already inspired you
That you live in the fold
Between her glance
And your desire

You tell her and hope
Hope that she already knows
Because tomorrow the world ends
You can't fear simple rejection
When the stakes are total annihilation
You tell her because you are out of time
And you need her help
To write another verse
And leave it on the air.

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