Honeymoon Hotel


Slapping lotion on her pallid skin
she sits too heavily too close
to have been secure in her choice
lingers too long after the passage
of senseless retched up words
squalid substitutes to pose the question
the old Saturday afternoon yearning
the waves breaking against the seawall
more articulate that the feeling
of zipless attraction her eyes avert.

Yells ascend the canyons of the street
to meet the silent screams of bodies falling
from the deceptive oceanview railings
surfeit of voyeuristic balconies
and beds of virginal sheets white
the innocent prisons of made marriages.

Night obsessively douses the light
the vestal drapes her beacon bikini
over the opposing railing, lies down
in the cavernous room, black hair
knotted on the pillow, facing away
for hours from my recurring gaze
a thousand Pearl Harbors forgotten
in the dream she will have tonight
after he comes down on her insistingly
his ginny breath clouding her sleep
with lust gratuitous and unsettling
on this night in this white trap
because she cannot escape this bed
and choose again to wetly seduce
the balding caucasian at the checkers table
concentrating on his melancholy novel
until her close scented skin jolted him.