She Arrives Late

the mirrors have shown
their faces, and the lenses
and the bouncing of all light

that peeks in front of itself now to see
that you are undressed
there is a light to you, or a resting place for light
in how you curve and how any light
i have in me gathers into my eyes
and wants to see you. you are

woman even without me: bright and naked
in the smile, tempting, masterful
with something cumbersome
like a stand-up bass player is, that’s
what i picture. a stand-up bass player

or a glacier’s methodical fingers
dragging past my waist, slowly, something
i will strain forever
to see the slightest movements of


  1. annotating60

    I thought that this was a beautiful love poem-clandestine, sexy, just a slight touch of phosphorous. For what its worth–I don’t have many followers–I’d like toi re-post this I hate the word ‘blog’. Excellent writing.

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