The Innisfree Poetry Journal

by Jacqueline Lapidus


Nobody saw us tiptoe in
except shoes on the second-floor
landing, a dozen pairs
reproachful but mute as we climbed the stairs
—panting a little, no longer young enough
to run, though you carried my bag
lightly—whispering under the hum
of a dozen Buddhists chanting.
In the comfort you created
from this vast industrial space
and with a brief prayer for its lawful
mistress, I hesitated
before I took off my clothes, but
only for a moment.

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