Aaron Belmer

I can taste the salt on
My lips,
Swift and unwelcome,
Wet with anticipation,
Soon dry with a formidable
Fear, dry as I stand in
This damned place, this dark
Temporary tomb, shivering,
Hiding,
Cramped by this dim desolence.

Strange ghosts of light;
Spots, swirling,
Tracers--
Memories of color in this
Colorless void.

A door closing--
Was I any good?
The jingle of key--
We were so close.

My hand instinctively grasps
For some thing to cover,
To hold,
To hide this nakedness.

Scratching outside the door--
Barking?
I pull a (tight shirt?) over my
Head.
A light switch.
Voices.

Great brilliance abruptly
Blinds my sight.
And me,
Standing there,
A yellow dress half on
(It really felt blue)
In front of her father
In her closet.
We were so close.