Distant Woman VIII
All you distant women
painting portraits with your toes, dodging rain that freezes to snow,
you with your pretzel almond eyes and smooth fingertips that never lie,
watch me wanting you,
with my velvet words and sonnet freckled elbows,
are you the ordinary goddess who knows so much,
uncomfortable in this solitude,
you with your well worn make up and cosmic hips
I am a foreign body chasing bodies and minds wanting to sip
from your intellect in ways you’d never suspect.
Poetry socks raw with holes at the toes,
looking at you with your rain soaked hair,
Kissing your back in the midnight glow, playing your skin like a
All you distant women make me hungry and I eat the idea of you
and lick my fingers that know you so well.
I am trapped in this wanting like a paradox eager to eat itself,
I listen to you talk and when you breathe, I memorize and mimic
how your eyes watch me and I wonder how you see.
In the distance, between the shadows and sunlight,
I wait to find you reflected against the starry eyed sky.