This can make romantic men confess
To the amount of soul in a hot cup of coffee
Where the rim meets the lips.
Is it his pulse that makes her
Presence vanish, that drumbeat of innuendo,
That moist eye that undresses her
In the cold light of day?
She is the meditative executioner,
An enlightened typist who erases him
From her life like white out.
To the Greeks, she even broke the moon’s spirit.
There she goes,
Taking the earth into her golden thighs,
Vanishing as if she never existed at all.
David Blanton majored in English at the University of Alabama. He is lucky enough to write poetry for cash as a street poet in New Orleans and hopes you find this poem worthy of your eyes.