Reading
Leaves
May 25 2009
I
watch her at tea.
Milk
tipped
white,
swirling in,
turning
clear brown liquid
beige.
A
tiny spoon
tinkles.
There
is moody jazz,
a
single rose
in
a tall clear vase
on
a small round table.
We
sit across
the
creamy cloth,
content,
not talking
Her
long lean legs
are
demurely crossed,
skin
bare
tan,
even.
Folded
as
only a woman can
-
toes, pointing like a dancer,
one
foot, crossing an ankle
tucked
flush.
A
stylish sandal
dangles
from her toe.
Her
bare foot stroking
her
glorious calf.
One
hand enclosing
the
porcelain cup
nursing
its warmth.
She
sips her tea,
lips
lightly kissing the rim
as
I drink her in
and
she
returns
a smile.
As
both of us silently ask
what
just happened?
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