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[she is naked but for one
sock]
She is naked but for one sock,
and I catch her looking up at me
from the foot of the bed.
Her eyes, though normally brown,
are today an ash gray glistening with sweat,
worried about what she's just said.
The ledge below the window-
where our neighbors sunbathe
each Saturday-is quiet. The breeze-
normally reckless off the river-
is stoically still.
I'll run off with her someday,
steal her from this island,
this concrete mass of money and greed.
But now, just now, I let her face twitch,
her worry mount, her nipples tighten
into clay mounds of fear.
I scoop her up, and with one finger
pressed to her lips, her mouth lingers,
and I slip inside this body. Soft, blood rushing,
her breath becomes brief.
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