White Robed Men

White robed men

Searching hallways

That look and feel like

Cotton clouds.

They spy me

Reach welcomingly

But I am not ready.

Instead

Lying flat

I bring the surgeon into focus

And begin the fight.

Every breath a rosary of desire

Beads of sweat on the upper lip

Glory be to god

Moaned softly, then loudly

Moments full of grace

Lost in the decade of free love.

In the back of mind

wondering what will happen

If we are caught by

Our Father.