On The 18th Floor Poem by Genevieve Surrender
On The 18th Floor
On the 18th floor
of a hotel downtown
you gave me gifts
of music.
On the 18th floor
you asked
If I was nervous.
I said, 'No.'
I was not nervous
I was uncomfortable.
A woman so proper
has no men in her room.
A woman so proper
is not comfortable
when she stands before you
alone, in a corset.
I thought you should know,
before I made a fool
of this withered
and tired old soul.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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4/18/2024 6:42:08 PM # 1.0.0.1119
A proper lady must be respected, valued...the musical gift must be delicately given.