STRAINS OF MUSIC,
GROWN FAINT

Young women, where
have you gone? I
remember when we
shared the night,
strangers on a bed
afire, when your
lips blew flute music
into my ear and your
fingers touched me
like the softest
down.

 Young women, where
 have you gone? Have
 you foresaken me
 because I have
 grown old?


November 11, 2005

 


All written material © Bill Schechter, 2016
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