19 (saints and winners)
She shows up, hangs around, and smiles at me.
I hover over her hair, and she knows.
They visit like this, when they’re in-between.
Hard to say who’s putting on the show.
You can see any part of a woman
if you look hard enough at her face.
To see her lips move, you can’t listen,
and she knows you can’t hear her from her waist.
Good trick: the overcoat then all that skin.
No matter how it goes, I break and break,
and I count the delights, for saints and winners.
And if I could just say what I can’t say
I would say and say and say: words to air,
and what a woman should know when you smell her hair.
originally published in Column