Pale skin under the shock
of silver
moonlight
halts my
wandering eye.
In night's day, its breath
blows chill
off the sea
while other
souls sleep.
She smokes by the window,
moon-gilt.
Sable hair
falls over
bare skin—
clouds cast shade on snow white sand.
I rise,
extending arms,
touch the
smoothness there
at her waist, and feel the soft
panties
cling to curves
like skin.
She shivers.
The arch of her back accents
soft,
boyish breasts which
steadily
rise and fall
and catch the ghostly rays
pouring
from heaven
on her and
the town.
Wind on rooftops and treetops
laughs
coyly at our
tryst and
dishabille,
and none hear but us two, wrapped
in wane
wisps from her
cigarette
ember
that glows all red as it fades.
Then we
fall away,
back through
smoke tendrils,
bare, innocent as First man.
Here, in
this half-world,
I inhale her all.
