faithless

first she hears the clack
 of his shoes

on the porch his legs wild in their

haste
 to fling themselves around her

then the rusty doorknob screeches


and twists and he rushes inside so

breathless

with wanting with waiting he has

nothing in his pockets dry hunger

in his stomach undressed he leans

over her
touching arms and waist and

back he kisses her in the wrong places

he’d seen her at a general store

staring at an old woman who

prayed for invisible graces

her mouth open and silent

her tongue dry as the sahara

now she hears every sound desire

sighing from dustwebs light touching

gossamer curtains rain gliding from

the slanted rooftop in winding silver

threads – she feels helpless – hands

bound above her head he sees her wet

thirst flow between her breasts he kisses

their ivory softness they taste of famine

he thinks it is her dreams that keep her

yearning she thinks it is his face that is

hard to read or maybe it is her ineptness

at discreetly perceiving indiscretion

but there on her wide bed in her

shadowed room she floats above

her own body and his and finds

that she – always coldly faithless –

believes with zealous ardor in sin