I'd walk her home after work
buying roses and talking of Bechsteins.
She was full of soul.
Her small room was gorged with heat
and there were no windows.
She'd take off everything
but her pants
and take the pins from her hair
throwing them on the floor
with a great noise.
Like Crete.
We wouldn't make love.
She'd get on the bed
with those nipples
and we'd lie
sweating
and talking of my best friend.
They were in love.
When I got quiet
she'd put on usually Debussy
and
leaning down to the small ribs
bite me.
Hard.
- Jack Gilbert
It is a great tragedy to me that I have no photograph to accompany these words. Please feel free to leave any picture you feel applies. I submit the below photographers' work for your consideration.
Rose & Olive
i swear i must have been sucha bastard in a past life
Let me know whatever time is good for you.