there is a looseness
in your unobstructed
belly
in the easy swing of
your hips
as you weave between
tables
towards me
in the parting of
your lips
over smiling teeth
in the soft cloth
of your dress
brushing the skin
beneath
you drift in silk
and stand so close
I feel your body's
heat
hear the sounds of
textile against flesh
smell failing deodorant
like a gift of weakness
or a threat
or a promise
and when the strand
of hair
blows across your cheek
and slips
into the soft cavern
of your mouth
with a single finger
you pull it from
between your lips
the tip
of your tongue
glimpses daylight
the strand lies
damp against your
cheek
I taste that saliva
I drink you in
and your odours
I devour
you order milk
sweetened with
raspberry syrup
and as you talk
you touch my arm
with a light hand
that burns so
that I cannot look
at you
but rage
bought up my spirit
and the opening by
others
of ragged wounds
has left me cruel
rough handed
and empty
and now
you tell me how
the young you
deep afraid of the
dark
stood at the cellar
door
but could not climb
down the steps
