Eight Seconds
I found myself staring at her fingers and lips
while she spoke. Words faded in and out my ears
lips and fingers phases out and into my sight
possibilities danced through my body.
I desired to taste her gleaming supple lips.
Glancing at her hands then her fingers, I noticed
no ring on the ring finger. Hmmm.
My eyes lingered a little longer before gazing into her eyes as
John Carter did when he firs spied the “Moons or Barsoom.”
Wetting my lips, I sized up the strength of her digits.
lithe and knowledgeable. My ears wandered back
to the softness of her voice. Her words came into focus
As I listened intently of dreams, goals, and family lineage,
when and how her people came to America. She spoke
of quietness and simplicity of living in the ever present now.
I savored each word like drips of honey off a wooden spoon.
Her tones warmed the emptiness of my eardrums.
Words faded in and our as I touched her with my mind
Her fingers twined through my fingers.
I feasted on her words with tongue and teeth.
I think I wrote this poem in 2005. I found it (8/27/2011 while packing up my apartment at the Manchester Arms, 1412 Summit Ave) in a rejection letter from poems I submitted to a Poets West reading series at the Frye.
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