curled on blue stained comforter your head on my thighs - I run short fingers through white-gold silent, speak of men we have known love, we have imagined digital glow reminds me you must drive skidding soon through rain - turn my body to shield your eyes if only I didn't know what you'd do if I kissed you perhaps I'd kiss you and see what you'd do. ***** M.A. Mohanraj March 14, 1994Click here to read more poems.