Thursday, March 18, 2010


Lady, you owned a look of surprise. That I understood. You found me aflutter in a tub of Ivory soap and still warm water. So this was the idea I had just for you: let slip the towel over your steaming heart. Then come aflutter with me under a low light; a tungsten twosome till our memories fade to dark. But I was too forward. Too demanding. You dropped nothing but a yellow blog on a Square Corner night. So here I am wet and alone, my bath towel gone. I speak bubble talk to a frosted mirror, my breath as steamy as a heart surprised.

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