Have you ever seen a woman on a summer day;
Her decolletage toasted and glistening;
Her skirt playing in the breeze as she walks?

Have you ever been surprised by a flash,
The curve of an ankle, the paleness of skin?
Would it take your breath away?

Would the glimpse of her calf move you;
Turning your head in regard as it is imprinted
On the memory that will become a dream?

Would the satin of her arm against yours be
As delicate and charged after years;
'Tho no more, no less, no dousing of the fire?

Is the crunch of the leaves less pleasant
In November than in the Haunting;
The breeze less moving, the moon less round?

An ankle is replaced by a thigh,
Warm lips supplant a hand.
There is no lingering joy; only... More.

A note about quesitons...

From David Wilcox's concert last year in Little Five Points...he mentioned: "We think that the smaller the question, the closer we are to getting the answer out of it. But the truth is, the answer is out of the question."