Transaction
(Une Legere Touche Aigre Douce)
From shadows in the
garage,
he could see them close –
a transaction
taking place and perhaps
he thought
she’s giving tongue
to all the words she
taught
him that once were his,
before years had done work
on his face,
leaving a lingering taste
just a touch more sour
than sweet.
A quick look, furtive
stealing
down the valleys she’s
revealing
that are still something
pleasing,
here is a glance that just
knows
as it wanders, something
grows.
Not so quick on his feet,
but he leans in, a skip
and grin
like grated lemon skin,
interposing that bulging
sack,
that’s lately hanging
slack
up and under his belt,
fingers notches
he’s often tried in vain
to pin.
As thread will needle
through cloth,
his thimble fingers push,
beat the slightest tattoo on
her belly,
touch, moves up towards
her breasts,
and both the others give
words a rest.
His gaze follows departing
feet,
because any transaction is
complete.
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