Home from the wars
a beautiful Indian girl steps out from the livingroom
name: Yasmeen
I tell her this yoused to be my friend's flat
Oh (almost a groan) and he didn't leave me a forwarding address?
She says after he tried to come on to me
my mum called him a (expletive) and kicked him out.
Kicked him to the kerb. Toe on buttcheek.
Wie ein hund.
Looking at her I'm not surprised he tried it on with her.
Her full bosom, the depth and roundness of it.
Top of diaphanous material. Pattern like rose blossoms
trapped in glass. Beneath, cup of bra enticingly visible.
Or the straps pinching the flesh of her shoulders.
What I want, standing here in the hall, is to caress her
soft back, between the shoulderblades, feeling where
the braclasp is.
I am a lover of women if nothing else.
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