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A woman beside a fountain
It was then that I saw by chance
a middle-aged woman
as she sat on a stone bench
warmed by the sun
beside a dazzling fountain
in a reverie that mingled herself
with the fountain, the trees,
and remembered caresses.
I saw how she'd want it to last
even when she went home
eventually to her husband,
she needed her lover
and the smell of them together
to stay as a second layer of skin
that covered her
and would not be washed away.
I turned my back and left her.
I’d seen what I’d seen.
I could have been wrong.
I didn’t look for long.
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