A view from a window

From afar,
someone attempts to write
the saddest lines of her day,
perhaps from the failure
of leaving an impression
in the mind of her beloved: possibly,
when he and she met at a certain point
and all he could give was the faint hint
of a smile and a quick hello,
not noticing the taut clinging of the dress on her curves,
the subtle exposure of the gentle slope that concealed
him inside her and way down
the milky surface which caught everyone’s eyes
except for his.

From afar,
someone takes off her dress
and everything, possibly,
that reminds her of failure
for the day and maybe,
the days to come. She lets the cool air
of the fan to play with her hair let down
to tickle her back, her only source
of pleasure as her fingers press
the soft keys to write, perhaps,
her saddest lines for the day.