His photograph, dusty and fading

Finds a spot amid

Hair brushes, bobby-pins and

Packets of make-up scattered beneath

The black and white portrait,

A college photo,

rescued from an old

family album after his mother died,

when they were dancing in step

through their days.  The photo,

slightly creased, changed less

then them. Laughing has dwindled,

loving glances seldom, touching

has vanished.

A radio blares an advertisement.

A special for retouching photos

Her thoughts dwell on retouching a marriage

On retouching her life,

on keeping the photo.

What mattered/
about that night/
was that he touched/
her neck/
with care/
felt deep in her bones/
and that he/
gathered her/
clothing/
clasped her ankle/
pulling it through/
one silky leg opening/
of still damp *******/
and kissed her/
inner thigh/
like he was devouring
a freshly picked/
peach
------

She feels no confusion
her lips on his eyes
blue as a mountain lake
Comfort enfolds her
like the first time
her cheek touched his
bicep as they walked
enmeshed.
Surrounded by warmth,
fear has
fallen to the trail.
Trust
fills her heart.

The Bradford Pear died

Our children left home

The Maple out back

Is a nuisance

The Star Magnolia

Blooms early this spring

Sense of self
lost in a sea of
loveless misery.

Forget me here,
digging in muck and
festering disease.

Armor plated
calluses so thick
no compassion will pierce
the scab.

Two years ago
her fingers
stained red beneath her nails
pillowed and splattered
layers of anger on canvas

paints and brushes littered her bedroom
where canvas stretched on frames
and love was lost under the mattress

collectors purchased her works
hoping to alarm viewers
like a siren alerts distracted drivers

at tonight's showing
she walks with a smile
as broad as a tourist
in a Japanese Garden

brilliant white works
cover each easel matching
her snowy cotton dress

In a back room  red's,
hidden under blue, green
and yellow cans and canvas,
fade daily.

ears forced against the down-stuffed pillow
muffle rhythmic sounds of sleep,

perceptible crackles 

that rumble from nasal passages

and invade his sleep

(should last night be an entry-

a sin of commission?)



yesterday desire grew 
inescapable
until two bodies 
pounded into exhaustion

on a mattress musty 
and worn
from other nights like this

bird chirps and lake chills 

filter through screen windows 

unabated.



few diaries document transgressions

in this new age of free love and prosperity
sins are common and plentiful.

later a litany of ****** diseases

would make headlines
now, love is free

secretly surrounded by traps

and quandaries soon to be discovered



he awaits her awakening 

in the still of bird songs and snoring

and wonders what she will remember

of the fascinations they held

for each other yesterday