i’ve not known it or you many days;
we met as friends with an absence of strangeness.
it was the month
that my lines got longer & my metaphors softer.
it was the week that
i felt the city’s narrow breezes rush about me
looking for a place to disappear
as i walked the clearway,
sure footed in used sandals screaming to be replaced
your empty shoes (expect for used stockings)
partially hidden beneath the dresser
looked at me, as i sat thoughtlessly
waiting for your touch.
as your body rested upon my chest
i saw the shadow of the window blinds
beam across the unpainted ceiling
like the somewhere i was going
when the clearness of yr/teeth,
& the scars on yr/legs stopped me.
your beauty: un-noticed by regular eyes
is like a blackbird resting
on a telephone wire
quietly with the wind
A south wind
By Don L. Lee