a gold of lemon, root and rind,she shifts in sunlight down the stairs
with nothing on. Nor her mind.
We spy beneath the banister
a constant thresh of thigh on thigh;
her lips imprint the swinging air
that parts to let her parts go by.
One-woman waterfall, she wears
her slow descent like a long cape
and pausing on the final stair,
collects her motions into shape.
XJ Kennedy
No comments:
Post a Comment