noon sketch in blanket tides



tight stockings
play
love like a game
slippered foot


the clock
count the days
hours left behind,
thrusts made
by her near perfect pelvis.
some body with a name
like yours steps
from

his

clothes


as the afternooon chair goes up in flames

i remain inside

her burning house

self pressed into silk

the fit of which
a miracle


heat


halfway down


with wonder
halfway up