That black dress
made your breasts
penitent magnolias
(mouths praying)
and your hips curved
wide like the sea where
dolphins are born,
the zipper against
your back- an ingress
to secret roads
(few men have traveled)
the waist, tight as
throat when the eye
sees far-too fragile things
(imagine a hand
around a small bird)
the skirt, the sky
within which lies
burning clouds at sunset
(God's fiery face)
when you take it off-
moon's gold flesh against
the dark cloth of night.
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