Louise Marie DelSanto


Louise Marie DelSanto Poems

1. She Once Had This Dream 2/9/2006
2. The Woman In The Second Bed 2/10/2006
3. Intervention Of Grandchild 2/19/2006
4. Black Silk Scarf 2/24/2006
5. My Father, The Wardley Toad 3/16/2006
6. I Thought Of Dorothea 3/19/2006
7. Under A Spring Moon 3/29/2006
8. To My Manny 11/28/2005
9. Remembrance 1/29/2006
10. Last Walk Of Life 11/28/2005
11. Encouraging Aidan 2/6/2006
12. Last Will And Testimony 11/11/2005
13. Fairy Gods 11/11/2005
14. Snow Princess 11/28/2005
15. On The Coldest Of Nights 12/1/2005
16. Revanche 12/3/2005
17. Gemma's Bar 11/28/2005
18. Winter/1962 11/28/2005
19. Nobody's Home 11/28/2005
20. Seduction 12/3/2005
21. Smoke Rings 11/12/2005
22. The Dedication Of Evening 11/28/2005
23. The Dusk Of Heroes/4th Floor Rehab 12/4/2005
24. Wondering About You 1/12/2006
25. Twilight Concert 1/14/2006
26. Underlined 12/21/2005
27. Lidia 12/26/2005
28. My Brother, The Anole 1/20/2006
29. Post Mortem 1/26/2006
30. Talking Back To Arizona 1/26/2006
31. January Dream 1/29/2006
32. Tao Sonnet 1/29/2006
33. October Silk 11/28/2005
34. The Sponge In The Sand 5/3/2006
35. A Birthday Poem For Roxann 5/15/2006
36. Absence 3/6/2007
37. And Now, You 3/20/2008
38. Happy Birthday, Adriana 6/16/2008
39. Last Thoughts 6/26/2008
40. On Saying Goodbye 8/15/2008
Best Poem of Louise Marie DelSanto

The Women Who Steal Married Men

The women who steal married men are all named Diane
or Kathy. They wake up in the night in Baby Dolls,
sexy and steamy beneath acetate sheets,
thinking of hot tubs.

It is always smoky where they work.
Under cashmere sweaters, their nipples
appear erect. They wear tight jeans because
vaginitis doesn't mean anything to them.

On their nails, little hearts.
When they walk, the scent of perfume.
When the wind blows, hair not moving,
hairspray clinging to oversprayed whisps.
Big hair rules sex toys.

It is the night that moves them. ...

Read the full of The Women Who Steal Married Men

A Woman In Baquba

A woman in Baquba lost her
brothers yesterday, shot to death
by gunmen, the paper said.

Her blood-stained dress is what
she grips at, her head thrown back
to scream the grief.

Cement, hot and dusty, below her

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