“The hollow of my hand was still ivory full of Lolita – full of the feel of her
pre-adolescently incurved back…” Lolita – Nabokov

In a moment she stands leaning above me
her lithe skeletal frame exposing the
inward crevasses of her coming years

In the corner of the dark midnight room lay
my scuffed brown moccasins, a silver pipe (a present from the year past)

My lips lacquered with honeydew / hands rested on middle aged knees

I bow forward to smell the sweetness of strawberry lollies and unsettled patience,
Rest my lips on the warm sheet which is her childish chin

[We have silence between these walls]

My Lolita’s straight awkward legs surround me
as I sit in my red silk robe
she is warm, settled
she is mine

An erotic [tragic] scene affronts you, dear reader