Desert Maja
by Ed Bennett

You were Goya’s “Maja”
in the desert afternoon
when you asked coyly
if you were still the beauty
that I’d remembered

and I searched for words
to tell you how sunlight dimmed
when my eyes caressed
your supple pose on
newly starched sheets
drawn taut for the occasion.

You waited patiently,
my speech cut short
by a girl’s flesh
grown glorious in years,
passing from strength to strength,
confident and brazenly smiling
as I stammered a fool’s retort

then drew me close
your tongue touching my muteness,
leading this exotic dance
to its final measure.


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