the waters of the bay
are like glass today, so still.
you are reflected in them,
the length of leg, the curve
of breast, his fingers on your
face, her arch beneath your
practiced hands — i see you both,
even when i close my eyes;
that pale skin burns
slick with sweat and fragrant
juices. sunlight blazes across
the water; the bus shudders
on the ragged highway; i am
staggering, until a stranger
catches my arm, steadying.
i am counting the days
until i join you.



M.A. Mohanraj
February 17, 1999