Prudence ~ National Poetry Month, Day 25

She comes in with a clatter
And throws herself
In the corner chair
Her hair is wild
A tangle of twigs
And forest muck
Her blouse undone
Breasts caked in mud
She smells of clove
And cigarettes
She is worn
That I can see…
She pulls her skirt
To her thighs
And unhooks her stockings
Bright ivory skin
Down to her ankles
I am breathless
Waiting
On
Her
Every
Every
Every…
“It’s gone.”
She tells me
“The words have left me.”

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