Inextricable moistening and dryness

Sylvia Ji
She looks at him,
despising the hours,
sniffing her wrist
as if she could still feel
that absolute perfume
hanging on her immaculate
married skin.

He- the distant miracle
opening and opening
her warmth, her frosted mind:
get up, cook, sweep, complain,

She - a lovely plastic doll.
Use her with her ring.
Use her without her ring.
She might not survive Christmas
or another dusty family party.

(His smell was obscenely delightful.
She needs more. She needs another
onomatopoeic afternoon.
His hands beneath her, breaking halos,
encircling her half-veiled constellations.
she was exercising her faith in herself again)

He observed her and could swear
she was praying: her pupils were dilated.
It was a divine ecstasy - he thought.
He wanted to tambourine her
with glory and fervor.

He wanted her last millimeters,
centimeters of endless skin
after such a long time.
But she stopped his hand midair:
nothing could be sparser than
what he could do to exalt her
after the pre and post-discovery of
her newly wet self.

Karla Bardanza
Copyright©Karla Bardanza 2012 Photobucket

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