And tonight a young woman on the cusp of the silence of yesterday and the variations of tears and joy to come will read a dog eared copy of her favorite poet and he will touch her. Six thousand miles from where he wrote the words and three thousand miles from where he lived them at the time of their emergence from the stream of thought into ink to press to paper like lips against flesh. And they will touch her. The lights flee to the touch of the nun marking curfew and she is left with the pale blue curve of moonlight as she draws the last syllables across her tongue like the prayer she recited for her teachers this morning. And they will touch her. Eyes to mind. Mind to heart. Heart to hands that play stand in for a man she'll never meet face to face, flesh to flesh. But her hands play second to his absence and she learns, lessons caught in fingertip expressions of borrowed ardour. And they touch her. The night reigns. And she is lost in the exploration of darkness that draws her from this place, grey walls on the green land. Her ragged, hot breaths, played out for an abstract lover on an island touched not by his feet or hands or eyes. And he touches her. copyright wfdv http://www.CityOfLegends.com/wfdv.html from the WC Press Book From Out of the City
Reason for writing:
A few years back I was approached by a gentleman who wanted to use some of my poetry from my website for a project he was doing with a group of convent school girls in Dundwalk Ireland. Well, the nuns got their hands on my work and banned the girls from reading me...this piece is sort of my revenge-fantasy of one girl reading my poems and reacting to their sensuality. the dedication for this piece in my book is for the nuns at Dundwalk
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