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The Jet Black Girl


A bubble of hotness
Shimmering jet hair
Skin like scented paper
Breaks through the door

It shouts prayers
(Or perhaps she swears)
This stifling greyness
Heavy as forevers

I donate a stare
A shy, sadder shrug
Worms its empty way
Into untouched corners

She wears, unknown,
A bright cocoon
Of flowers and gold
And too many heartbeats

My eyes rove through
She is perfume like lust
Touch like the sharpest surf
Sound like the bassest moan

So deep-throated it dies
I'm unsure if her feet
Explode softly behind her
Or if it is just me

If it is simply the thud
As my hope hits the glass
Where she waits. She goes.
Life resumes its breath

In some uptown-downtown
A close gaze with kisses
Seduces a faithful moth
With the heat of a dance

Yet though the eager night
Showers her with light
Quietly, safely at home
She weeps life to sleep


© David Incoll 2001


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Copyright by David Incoll 2001