.................................
Elizabeth
.................................

Her name was Elizabeth, somehow sultry
in spandex shorts and a skintight shirt.
He wanted to chase her when she went by
in the early gray, bolting out the door
bathrobe blowing, slippers slapping at his heels.
He wanted to run beside her and listen
to her firm, ragged breathing,
see the sweat trickle down her neck
to her rising chest. He would touch
her hot shoulder, run his hand
through her damp curls. But, he wondered,
what if her name wasn't Elizabeth?

.................................
Frank C. Pine
.................................

 
Copyright © Frank C. Pine
October 1996

...a letter to a in this room by katrina grace craig...
the small moments of your face hover
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