A Sensual Rasp
In the sometimes so gloomy mornings
I think of you
Outside shrouds of water drape themselves
Around formless people who hurry
with their umbrellas, incomplete rooms
that offer only transitory shelter.
I think of you
You, to my unseeing eyes, so warm,
so mocha in your Kona Bean exoticity
with the raspy quality that warms both
of our asthmatic voices to sensually
(Did no one ever notice how erotically
asthmatic voices can sound?)
I think of you
I dream you around my lonely existence,
fold you over my desk in a pose
that smiles right into my emerald eyes
In such
breathtaking ways
that only
my inhaler
can
save
me.
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