Fall 2010
Table of Contents - Vol. VI, No. 3
Susan Louise Sgroi
I counted the minutes
and words.
Smoothed the perfect white
sheets and waited.
You’re so delicate.
You’re so quiet.
It’s just me.
I was told never to make a sound.
The sounds left my mouth,
parted your lips and
circled round the bed.
Pulling open the window,
clouds running fast
rain fresh,
the sounds floated down the white shuttered street
and into
the late Paris sky.
© Susan Louise Sgroi