Benedictine in a tiny bottle,

tongue in, tongue out,

mooning, dreaming, face

of the boy who’d borrowed

a dollar last week, but

won’t speak to her now.

She slips her fingers

past her waistband, a new

face, the man who fingered

her five years ago during 

that movie The Nun’s Story

Audrey Hepburn’s face joins 

the man with his warm hand,  

they both touch her, delicate 

then rougher till she comes.

She returns to her homework:

J’ai veçu seul; sans personne

avec qui parler veritablement.

Alone with St. Exupéry in the

Sahara; Benedictine in a tiny

bottle their only sustenance.

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