She exhaled her smooth silk smoke over me and I lost my way

in a fog, a haze of riches of electric touch upon

the one crumpled silk stocking she was wearing and I remained

there for several nights.

The distant sound of a saxophone beating against the lips of a master

as she asked me time and time again, whether sugar, was I alright?

I told her she was fine, it was me I worried about and the stinking sleepness

I felt as the bed heaved and swallowed and caught my breath and