I cannot remember her face
She was my biology teacher at eighteen
With the tense wait of seduction
In her limbs, the feast on youth
Through golden binoculars
I used to sit, looking at the
Golden chain near her blonde hair
And everything around her
Used to burst into song
At the end of an avenue
Was her smile, I know she was kindness
Her body the buttons of immature eyes
Like blind fingers vaguely aroused
By a feminine voice, like a soldier’s
Last memory of love, before war
I cannot remember her face
The lion of her Madonna of stealth
That lifted my erogenous Genesis
To a good-natured grin, the touch
Of a fragrance that could only mean
Celebration, a great rose of a nipple
That my adolescence could only imagine.
Photo Courtesy: http://www.deviantart.com/art/arch-412281192
Wuji Seshat 