Wednesday, July 13, 2011

Under the red tent

Shielded from the noonday sun,
the harlot waits
in her small red tent
beneath the trees
beside the road
and breathes
a womanly sigh.
There is,
no one to hear
or misinterpret
her longing,
no parting of the veil tonight,
no sounds or scents or flavors
save her own;
only the warm sand
to press against her cheek.

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