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Poem	i can see through the blue dress when you stand in the doorway - the light come indoors softly like a cat between your legs when you walk and the dress flows over the curved pebble of your belly into the blue pool my eye is already there waiting for the ripple i have the echo in my own dark waters it is an old dress and it knows how to touch a breast as a hand would if it could stay all day and not get overheated - when you bend down and the dress runs up your legs it is certainly doing what a hand would not that i like the dress it has its own play but when the hand comes the dress gets in the way
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