In Love With A Married Man
by Teresa White
It is more important
that you read this
than we love each other.
As a friend I can only borrow
from your storehouse,
guarded by the double sentry
of duty and home.
If love were not as final
as the embossed seal,
the shower of rice you danced under;
I might listen to you now,
like a woman sending her lover to war,
the uncertain future,
the moving train.
We walk off the top
of our wedding cake
into the cool green garden
of the world.
We are tall in our black and white clothes.
You lick frosting off my fingers
until they are new.
You gently lay your slacks
on the arm of a chair.
Your fingers pull my zipper
to the heart of my hips.
We hear bulbs groaning
in their fresh graves.
Curtains fly away from the sill.
I take a breath bigger than a bank.
You kiss me on the lips.
We put our black and white clothes
to bed in long boxes with tissue paper.
In the morning I smooth the white surf
of our sheets
as you put our white boxes
out of reach.
©2000 by Teresa White
Teresa White is a native Seattleite, presently living in eastern
Washington. Teresa has had over 150 poems published or
upcoming in online and print journals including:
Artemis, Blue Moon Review, Branches, Conspire,
Grasslimb, Eclectica, La Petite Zine, Snow Monkey,
Rattle, and Pierian Springs. She is the author of In
What Furnace, a collection of poetry available
through Amazon. She was nominated for the 1999
Pushcart prize by The Melic Review. See more of her work
at her Web site.