Body Bent at the Hips

i'm on the skids: i can see you backing away from me
awkwardly, your sandals scraping the brick path
and your body bent at the hips, that smile of yours
wide, waiting to fade when my sight evades your eyes.
i wasn't looking at your breasts—at least not this time around—
or your legs exposed and glistening in the June sun;
i kept my eyes up, into yours, even when they fell
when your body bent at the hips, those long arms of yours
covering your chest, your hands running up your neck
where you think i am looking—i swear to you
upon this evening setting sun that i was just listening
to the birds and the rustling of the trees and i was watching
your feet when they finally settled and stopped their clomping.

is there any other way that you can look at me?—i saw you
a thousand different ways, some needing your breasts
and your lips that coat your teeth pearl with moisture,
others seeing your voice resonate through the air
while your mind pulled away with your jet-setting tongue.

but i saw your body, bent at the hips
and i myself had to back away, stamping my feet on the red summer brick.

No comments:

Post a Comment