the po~et 17 (outloud)

Professor Shaffer had become an established poet and was gaining national attention. He had received an invitation to read his poetry at the Miami Art Institute. He invited his students --hoping that Jack would accept.

When he announced the event in class she immediately became excited. It would be an opportunity for her to see him in his element.

That afternoon she dressed carefully, she wanted to be youthful and alluring. Her skin looked like a toasted honey comb and her hair black and shiny was pulled back. Driving there that evening, she couldn't help but think about how gorgeous he had looked earlier when she saw him in his suit.

She could hear her heart pounding she couldn't remember the last time she was this excited. She found it hard to understand and even harder to explain why and how she felt about Paul. Their worlds were so different the classroom was the only thing they shared. Even there she wasn't on the same level he was, he was the professor she was a mere student.

She was hoping that night would be special that maybe in the evening sun he would see past all of their differences. That he would see her as a woman, a woman that wanted him.

Jack felt him as he entered into the room. As he walked down the marble staircase, his body moved like a god, the sun hit his eyes and the blue was deeper than any hue of blue she thought could be found on earth. At that moment no one else was present their eyes took them to unlawful impermissible places.

He spoke to her sensuously saying her name. She loved to hear him say it the symbols that represented her sounded so different parting his lips. She often imagined how it would feel whispered in her ear falling onto her pillow. He made the rounds and spoke to the other attendees and then he came and stood by her. She had never seen him outside of the university's campus. She wanted to touch him, she wanted to lock her arm in his, she wanted to kiss his lips before his words left them.

She followed him like a lost girl into the reading room. She sat next to him and she felt as if air had become extinct--wind no longer filled her lungs. Just the need to be near him. While the first poet was reciting her work, she was dreaming of him, untying his tie and removing his jacket in a secret room there that they would have to scavenger out.

They had to change rooms for his reading. She found a seat that would allow her eyes to roam his body. In class she couldn't help herself neither did she resist the temptation to admire him.

Paul was confident that evening claiming the time as his own. He was in his world a place he had carved out for himself. You could hear it in the weight of his voice giving strength and meaning to his words. He was funny and bright--poetically walking on water. She had read every line of his that she could find and she soon found herself reciting along with him, no one else was there, it was the place where she found him. In his literary world, between lines meticulously weaved, she fell in love with him, his ideals, his words--now spoken outloud.