The night plows into me
I steady myself for the onslaught
how harsh she is blowing past
long blue robes trailing behind
in her wake, night-jasmine
to mock me, an old man writing alone
with dry finger tips
I know
beneath her gown, alabaster smooth
what dignity is left
when the night conspires against one
with black hair adorned by diamonds
what chance do I have
Thursday, November 4, 2010
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