Monday, September 12, 2011

disoriented express

it wasn't the chill
from the patterned glass
her hand rested on
that made her uneasy
or the blanket of night
that slung itself around her shoulders
it wasn't even the fact that it had been
a good half-hour since the train had hollered
through the dusk
it was the hand
of the gentleman who stared at her
all through dinner with a cigarette in his lips
and the musk of lust on his brow
resting on the window of her compartment door
that made her heart beat that much faster now

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