Her Underwear. Poem by RIC BASTASA

I've seen a beautiful woman
lonely on her chair, one hand
with a glass of wine while
the other with a cigarette

from time to time she throws
smoke into the air and it lands
on my hair, on my lips, and
then my thighs are trembling

how can she ever ask to
suggest that i too need love,
only for tonight?

we have
the same mind, and when
we did it, she walks away
first, uncombed hair,
forgetting her lipstick and
her underwear.