Sensei's Soliloquy

Toffeed dribbles
of carmalized exhaustion
add to the dissolution
of my statuesque consciousness; I am
waiting for words long-pronounced, of wisdom,
as a cement gargoyle
waits for drops of acid rain
to streak its outstuck
tongue
(Grace me softly,
I think
that I want
your fingers to
touch my face),
but my impatience razes wakefulness
like my fingers flay my nails of
their skyblue polish, 
the sun reflected there,
and my forehead...meets...my desk.
...gooday.
                      By Leighann Zanetti

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