or the things we forgot
to discuss, or the things we discussed
until our lips faded into our faces
and our eyes
couldn’t take another look at whatever it was
that held us at attention.

Distractions, like how I am
sitting here, fingers positioned at the keyboard
and you,

you getting out of the shower.
It’s not that you’ve chosen the towel
that drapes your waist just enough
to make me type something crazy, something like:
There is a trail that leads from navel to pelvis.

Memo: That is not an opening line!

So I draw back
to Li Xiangting’s zither
serenade of strings
and focus on the screen:
cursor skittishly flashing as if it has lost
its patience with my preoccupation.
And I think to myself I am going to write
something worthy of literal importance
      of absorption,
of brilliance–

Dynamics: the study of objects in motion.

There is a bead of water dangling from your nipple
ring, its life dependent on the depth
of your breath and my ability
to concentrate–
it is about writing

and something I will later delete.

©  Maria Lupinacci 2005