Monday, June 3, 2013

Rara Avis


     the swirl of her ponytail, perfectly
                             positioned, painstakingly

 careless strands cascading just so
     teasing the
back of her neck
  and his mind.

He could
taste her
or imagined he could.  Craved
        her notice.  Her figure, poised attentive, undimmed, juxtaposed with the relative blur of all others in the room

and the fidgety
shuffling of peers,
the drone of the
schoolmaster lecturing on dimensions, insignificant hum
but her soft
he heard,
 his heartbeat all that vied for attention, audible witness of his lust, and
 her composition all he'd managed to memorize
                     thus far this year, her nimble
at play at gym,
her regal movement through
  the hallways.

                   So, powerless, when at last such substance
                     of rapture stood
before him, anticipation palpable.  She cocked
           head, not unkindly.  He cleared his throat,
                        too aware of sticky palms,
 that would not come.

The Mag

The Sunday Whirl


  1. I loved this (having been a teenage boy in a class of nubile girls so many years ago). However I wanted his "lust" to be slightly hidden so would have preferred the word "desire" in its place.

  2. So lovely. What a picture of memories you paint.

  3. I t captures the fascination and teh awkwardness beautifully.

  4. Oh this is gorgeous really captures youth!