Just one flash
She is crossing the street
red hair flowing behind her
(past her shoulders -- I don't know how long)
sleeveless white dress with something pink printed on it
sandals
her arms raised above her head
(I don't remember why)
My eyes trace the lines
from open hands down each arm to gently hollow armpits
(I dream that I could drink sweet tea from each)
down beneath the taut dress
over flat chest down narrow torso over negligible hips
over the faint curved smoothness of swiftly striding thighs
(my kinesthetic vision responding to the textures, the scents
as if the tips of remote fingers were caressing these lines and planes
as if my face were projected upon, between those thighs
that I might see close-up, I might inhale, might taste the joys between
that I might be sustained forever by just the flavor, just a breath)
down the strong, slim legs to the curves of feet
so fleet they might make Mercury seem lame
to end at clumsily painted toes
Just one flash
then she is beside me, past me, behind me
Her father reads a name from a nearby sign, asks what it is
I answer "the best burger joint in the city"
He says "Great, I feel like a burger"
She laughs
and the sleek sound's shimmer arcs upwards through me, electrifies me
darting up my spine
as my loins, my sex, my gut, my heart, my breath, my brow, my crown
each resonate, excite, exult to a different frequency of her joy
Then she is gone
And I walk home
And the hundred mundane details of the day conspire to crowd her out
But when at last I slow and go toward sleep
her image leaps alive again and captivates my senses
I sigh and smile and summoned by her memory's command
arise to reach for common words
and blessing them with her magic
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