Séverine in Summer School

January 5, 2019

Naked for twenty-four of our last thirty-six
Hours together, and I mean museum-quality, sex-
Shop, God-riddling naked, sapping gold
Light from the windows of her hundred-year-old
Baltimore dorm, we were hungry for selling
Points, like a couple in a showroom. Compelling
Arguments were made to close the deal
And children were discussed. I kissed her from heel
To head in a shower without water;
Then with. Nude, she read me a letter as a waiter
Would his specials, and I couldn’t keep
My eyes off: smooth shoulders, belly, pelvis,
Deep olive skin all a balm against sleep.
It was from her sexy grandmother in Dieppe
And Séverine translated, both of us
Somehow drawn to this third party in a tidal
Sort of way, her lunar candour, her antipodal
Ease with words and the world. We were difficult,
Séverine and I, a beautiful strain, a cult
Of two. Even eating, we made lots of noise.
Even resting in bed, watching the trees,
Our lighter breathing, our limb-shifting, sheet-
Rustling, even our dreaming had fight.
Her heart was exceptionally loud – not with love,
But with knowing. Knowing what to be afraid of

Rex Wilder


As the wind
Ruffles wisteria
Its purple blossoms
Drifting cumulus
Along the fading green
Guarded by elms
Looking down majestically
Half naked limbs
Commanding squadrons
Of feathered struts
Landing languidly in
The late autumn breeze
The smell of burning leaves
Music drifts
Lingering like captured notes
Caught in space
The haunting lilt
Of childish laughter
Looking into the eyes
Of a girl so young
Questioning this wayfarer
To her realm
Yet knowing
So knowing
She remembers
This stranger . . . .