April 8, 2008

Caught in a thunderstorm,

rain sluices down my body.

A droplet discovers an opening

in my doused wool to slither down my flesh.

 

I imagine that it’s your index finger making

the path down my throat, in-between my breastbone

and onto my belly, where you pause

for a brief second before sliding down the right side

and getting absorbed by my blouse.

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