Scott Pearce
Some Distant Thing
I watch her as she sits reading
Not knowing of my gaze
Showing me glimpses of flesh with each stretch and turn
And how I am shaken by it.
This dark invasion that seems to rush through my veins
Like a primal instinct subdued.
When she passes close I can make out the form of her nakedness
But it is not what I desire.
It is enough for her to give me that transformation, that
pervading desire of what might be, that
joyful wickedness.
In parts, she has the look of a dream,
Her hair, the colour of autumn leaves, soaks in the light
And it warms her neck.
I am careful to never catch scent of her, she is mine
in memory alone;
For occasional brooding and a distant gaze.
Page(s) 108
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