Tuesday, January 4, 2011

where your shoes take you

they looked really nice
pink ,sweaterlike socks
of mohair wool
inside your boots
they made you feel cool


the rain smelled like a burning cigarette
you pulled me in a theatre of dark, muscular
curtains and old, red seats, said we would
wait there until it was over_
now's the time to talk, I thought but no_
words would destroy that small ,sudden grasp
the click of your hand on my breasts
behind the bluish audience of strangers listening

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