PASSION FRUIT

by R. Margaret Baird



He is forbidden.
The loneliness returns.
The blackness leaves and the loneliness returns.

I long again to press near to a man-
after believing I'd never want again.
And again, the object of my thwarted desire
is forbidden to me-in some detail I forgot.

I shall have him.
I shall make him mine
for one day...or two.
Or not at all.

I wonder which moment it was that set me off?
When he sighed at himself and rested his fist
against his cheek and I noticed that
he had blue eyes,
and then I noticed his masculine wrist...
A glimpse of his soul in an ordinary conversation?

My god, he's brilliant.
Does that distract me more?

I writhe in this empty bed.
I think of him, alone in his.
Have I crossed his mind at all as he lies alone?
I became a stumbling schoolgirl.

He is forbidden to me.

As delicious as passion fruit.
A draped room with Persian carpets and the
smoky light of incense and flame...

And he is absolutely forbidden to me.



R. Margaret Baird is finishing her Masters degree. She writes for stress relief.