My fingers trail across the cover of Mapplethorpe’s Pistils,
smooth and cool as the skin of your inner thighs.
I move along the balcony, glancing below
where you wander, disappear into the stacks.
I open a volume of Neruda, run my palm over the page
until his line—a whisper to my thirsty lips conjures your kiss,
the taste of our afternoon Ouzo still on my tongue.
Music begins to fill the quiet—Vollenweider’s languid jazz—
his fingers plucking electric harp strings—I think of your touch
along my spine when we dance. I begin to move
to the sounds of soft cymbal splashes folding
into the harp’s cascading runs, and the drummer’s
rhythmic beats against the taut skin of bongos.
You must feel it too, for here we are—you climbing the stairs,
me along the balustrade—flush from the wine, the books,
the music; my hand glides down the rail as yours slides up.
–
Merna Dyer Skinner’s poems appear in many U.S. and international print and online journals, and four anthologies. Her chapbook, A Brief History of Two Aprons, was published by Finishing Line Press. From her Portland, Oregon, home, Merna is currently editing an anthology of fishing poems by female poets.