Claire

Claire.
Tall Claire
With your straight long
Honey hair and
Your athletic body
Draped in a short sun-dress
With its chest slit
Just enough to display the
Large bronzed breasts of a
Nude sun-bather.

Tall Claire. Green-eyed Claire.
Unaware, perhaps that
While you are showing me
The model two-bedroom
One-and-a-half-bath
And sweetly droning out
Your studiously-memorized
Spiel about nine-foot vaulted
Ceilings and the equipment
In the Fitness Center and about
High-speed Internet access,
I am inhabiting an
Alternate universe where
I reach out and stop
Your lips with two fingers and
Draw you to me and kiss you
Hungrily and without any
Innocence at all, long and
Deeply and the woke woman
In you twines your arms around
My neck, your body liquid and
Yielding to me, pressing against
Me as I reach down to the hem of that
Flirty little dress and lift it
Over your head and cast it aside
And bend you over the inch-thick
Glass Mediterranean-style dining-room
Table available as part of the
Furnishings Package for only
$218.00 per month and make short work
Of the tiny underwear covering your
Taut smooth asses and the shaved
Little-girl entrance to you
Into which I thrust myself,
Taking rough possession,
My hands drawing you onto me,
Controlling, managing, pacing the
Thing until I feel the stiffening of
You, of your approaching climax and
Ride through it with you until you fold,
Done, and I in my turn and in my time
Explode into you, seating my seed there
In your waiting womb, and then collapse
With you on the beige faux-Berber
Model sofa to whisper and caress, there
In the after.

Alas, poor Claire, honey-skinned and bare
Against the wool-substitute fabric,
In our part of the multiverse
My hands twitch but do not move
And I ask pertinent questions about
Square footage and the cost of utilities and
We part with a business-like handshake
After you hand me the Application Package
And wish me a great day.

Claire. Honey-skinned Claire
Unaware of the wolf-companion
Straining against its chain. The
Feral friend of my long life, its
Snout now grey but still howling
At the Moon, still waiting for the
Moment it can be released
To hunt and feed and mate
By starlight in some
Green-branched copse.

Green-eyed Claire
Who perhaps was more aware
Than I imagined. Who gave me
That sidelong look when she
Thought I could not see and
Held my eye for just a second too long
When we parted. No. Just an
Old man’s fantasy, reverie
Of what could never be.