Grateful for the guilding touch of the mystery editor.
He could open the window, and she could
lean out into the cool evening air, smelling
the fragrance of the earth after rain, breathing
deep the scent of petrichor, explaining to him
the story behind the name, the liquid flowing
in the veins of gods; listening to her soft voice,
he could play with the hem of her skirt, taking
it between his fingers. Her voice unfaltering
he could slowly raise it, move his hand and feel
the bare flesh there, warm and soft; she would
have come prepared to this encounter she chose.
With a light touch and nimble fingers he could
make her ready for what would follow, while
she would name him the birds singing in
the dusk, point the single light in the deep
blue sky, Venus, which would watch
them as they become one.
14.-19.06.2024
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