09.26.2005 - on the floor below the chair
on the floor below the chair
----------------------------
on the floor below the chair
where she sat moments ago
is a small curled white feather
in stark contrast
to the wooden floor below.
she walked in,
with that quiet way that
creatures of her kind can
slipping by almost unnoticed
until you realise
at nearly the last moment
that something unique is happening
and you look up from your book
and take notice.
i noticed -
first her perfect form
that divine curvature
that cuts through all cultural bias
and makes denying it's beauty -
impossible.
then -
i noticed the light and casual
way she smiled
and the eyes that moved
together in that
natural dancing of muscles
that lesser men like me
strain to perform
clumsily.
i noticed too much,
and she noticed me -
face burning i returned to my
book and then
slowly...
i...
drifted away.
a feeling of implicit peace
numbed me from inside
and i floated through
momentary dream worlds
of autumn leaves
hot deserts
and golden-eyed people
who lived in blue marble villas
on the tiers of
rust coloured mountains.
and somtime then,
be it ten minutes or ten hours
i could not tell
the world became firm again
and my hand felt the
unique texture of
wood grained table-top
and my lolled head
regained it's posture
and i walked slowly outside.
i smoked a cigarette
breathing in dirty soured air
with it's cumulative malice
chasing out the last traces
of her somatic effects
replacing fairy dust with
coal soot
dream for definition
and langour for choice.
i returned to my seat
and looked to the table where she sat
chair now vacant
ambrosia drips hardening
on the rim of her mug
and on the floor
one delicately curled feather -
down from her hidden wings
fallen fleece from
a fleeting angel.