Sunday, May 6, 2012

at Key West

I’ve invited the Murphy’s over later
for cocktails and I’m trying to choose
a dress, going up and down stairs.
The glass chandelier trembles
in a sudden hot gust off the ocean.
On a circuit back up
you grab my thigh from behind
and I snap,
“Not now!”
Immediately regretting it
as you stump away,
off to drink, I suppose.
Upstairs I slump in front
of the armoire
and fold to the bed,
the white chenille,
vainly brushing my hand
against the swell of my breasts,
my belly,
closing my eyes,
once again
to curl close to the soft,
sweet mat of your hair,
to kiss the tea-green light
of your eyes.


  1. The delicate fragility of the moments. Your skill astonishes me.

    1. Thank you, Ruth. I was reading some Hemingway and got in a mood.