A Woman In A White Dress

The strangest moment
I’ve ever had: there was
a party going on. A woman
in a white dress sat on my lap.
It was likely obvious
what we were doing — you know
what I mean. But people
were oblivious to it.
We were there and not there at once
in some way. We had made a shell
out of our indulgence, a wall so thick no one
could see through — or they could see,
and the wall was between us
and their awareness of us.
It doesn’t matter. It was so long ago.
It could never happen to me again,
and I don’t recall her name. I can barely
recall mine some days, let alone
any memory of how we managed to become
so invisible we could make love in public
without fear of discovery
or failure to perform. It doesn’t matter,
it was so long ago, it could never happen
again, and I refuse to tear myself open
recalling her name.