NUMBER 297

sometimes something as simple
                                     as a woman walking in her bare feet
can be just as sensual
                                     as another person biting slowly
                                     into a ripe mango.
                                                          one really doesn't
                                                          bite into a mango,
you sink until you are covered in juice.
that same woman combs the black tangled hair
                                                of her dog's back.
you can feel the brush untangling your own knots
         as you stand in the warm sun of a saturday afternoon
                                   the garden is there
                                            a     nd the flowers are walking
                                             alo  ng the path
enjoying another angle of the same scene.
                                          it is a fluid manet painting
  pretending to be nothing but a camera click

      trying       to               remember                everything