Pink Coral

I had worn a white tank

But was not an angel

(not hardly)

Or a cloud

(though I can drift far from terra firma).



I was simply in a hurry

And it was handy.



My windows are small

And recessed.

They let in just enough street and moon light

To make out general shapes--

My bed.

My chair.

My flower vases.



You lay with your head against my chest, your bare back to the room, and I said,

"This is the desk where I write my poems.

These are my books,

And this is where I sit dreaming, afternoons, when I am free."



You heard none of this because you had fallen asleep.

You left a pink coral lipstick stain on my shirt,

In the spot you had both blemished and blessed,

Just there,

A little above my heart.

__________