Monica White

August 7, 2011


Monica White

 

Remembering how I rose up

into her arms

how we met empty handed

her fast eyes

the modesty of her blouse

alarmed by the claims of desire.

I can hardly recall her face or name

only

the waiting kiss

the eyes trembling

the warmth of a mouth.

the picture of her undressing

is starting to replace my sight.

One Response to “Monica White”

  1. Mary said

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