May 6, 2009 0
The New Main, S.F.
by Paula Sheil
A man entered the space. Hair. Black. Soft. Moved down his
back. All of his back. Moved when he moved. Kelp with the
tide. Moved him or followed him. I. Like a tiny yellow fish
darted into his hair. And out. No solid between us. Space
only clarified my having him and letting go. Interrupted by
concrete and glass.
A man entered the space. Picture him naked on a white sheet.
His skin the color of walnut oil. His fingers. Hidden. I
wanted him. Suddenly. To never forget.
A man entered the space. Not so many men are ...