His fingers feel her ribs beneath my skin
at night, then trace a pathway through her hair
that leads him, twisted, "round the pillow lace
behind my burrowed head. She leads the way;
I nurture the disguise--for brilliant kin-
ship with her ecstasy completes our share.
I feel light gray fuse to my shadowed face.
Now ivory. Scrimshaw. The artists, they
are lips; they carve in channels made of thin
and hungry and intricate details wear their
embrace and rise and fall and race
for more. I cry her infinite ends, lay
the streaming silver keys back on her rim
to shimmer--she, the shiver inside him.
Other Woman
© Copyright: Павло Павло, 2001
Свидетельство о публикации №101101800109
Свидетельство о публикации №101101800109
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