Lunatic Arpeggio

Lovemaking heard through a motel wall
like violin practice of the insane.

Snow-capped mountain like one shoulder
glimpsed when a loose blouse slips

And a thin black bra strap reminds me
of the poem with your second-best panties.

We dress our thoughts in black and white
words as if wearing truer colors would be

admitting too much. Hands that know
their mind, a kind of dumb eloquence.

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About Ray Sharp

Father, poet, triathlete, local public health planner
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