70. SENSES/SENSELESS

do you smell the roses, the moss,
       the grass, and bath steam?
the evening, the sunlight,
trees growing in the windows?
the faint cigarette smoke, the blue haze of gasoline?
do you feel the urge to write,
the passion fro a close and silent friend?
do you thrive on time and time alone,
and do you offer hot green summery solitude?
a meadow? a flight of bees, a flutter of wings?
have you a table whose napkins are windscattered,
a glass tinkling with ice and fountains of pinprick soda?
careless legs on a chipped white chair, sandals,
muscles and soft skin, roundness of pliant
flesh trim and ever–undulant
       with quick unpretending motions?
have you a free day, a cigarette, a light, a night to spare,
a little time to delay your promises to yourself?