I Met This Model

I met this model at a party. She was
younger than me, and you
have seen her face--trust me, you
have glanced into her charcoal eyes,
glanced on.

We leaned against a white
sipping beers, tilting
every now and then, speaking
mouth to lobe--trust me, you
already know
the scent of her shampoo. She

touched my shoulder, twice--
the heel of her right hand, the length of her thumb the
tip of her little finger. Through an open door:

the smell of rain,
the hush of condensation.

JDP 97/08

Copyright John D Porter © 1997

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