CHURCH STREET

how could that woman
walk alone down a street ever?

with a beauty that ferments my lips
with just a thought of their arrival,
to a place where we might kiss
in the dark corners of imagination.

she's the kind of person
that i'd hate to meet.

the fantasy falls at unimaginable speeds
into fragile pieces against
rock hard reality.

so instead i like to watch
her tan breasts reverberate
within a too tight top, as
the gentle bow curve
of a perfect neck
rolls hair across the face,

then return to my drink
where even the possibility
of such things amuse me,

and smile at the threat
of loneliness...with standards

too high for love.