by Adriana DiGennaro
(06/02/04)

Sometimes I
look out my window to a window across the way
last week, I saw a live nude painting
colors awash, bodies melding,
a green accent of leaves framing the sill.

Other days they're clothed but playful.
Today her gleeful screams and giggling
are what beckoned me
to marvel at their window display.

Is she loud only to gain the attention
of those like me,
craning transfixed from a distant pane?

The other windows are vacant
theirs is the only one in motion
as they wrestle, grab with all their limbs
Feet flailing, her long blond hair
Tied back, a mess.
I see him perfectly: kneeling on the bed
looking down at her
are they unaware of who's
privy to their lovemaking
or are they staging their copulation
for the universe?

I'm here alone, skulking on the bed
to observe their tangle

I study the way arms move
when mouths are busy,
I consider what kind of painting I would be.

Eau De Toilette

I've heard about tortures
hundreds of years old

where simple drops of water
become sheer agony

throughout
those two years,
she wore what is now
a common perfume

scent is linked to memory
& with each
drawn
breath
some stranger's familiar fragrance
hits me right between the eyes

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