In your eyes
I see, that those presented
as most strong, are those
most complicit in deceit.
Who controls what we think?
Sometimes I tell myself
I’m trapped again,
stuck to your sweet voice,
your whispered honeydew words
leaving a brilliant sheen
in my bronze eyes.
I await your lips
in water’s reprieve,
arrhythmic heart trembling
within my sleeve.
I could have died,
in your heart.
come the hours of calm.
Where the ether is still,
still enough to see its reflection.
Minds and fingers twitch,
the heady rush of this world’s
many tempting deaths, abandoning reality,
in return to the cold sobriety of the bedroom ceiling.
In a carnal crash of two
heated in sexual need.
We sought our delicious counter.
I approached you,
bearing words of no weight.
You were smiling, cheeks rosed,
eyes coyly flitting away.
Upheld by the bar and it medicines,
we back and forth, exchanged air,
hoping for a bold gale,
so we may sail afar.
surrounded by shoes fitting another,
in your bed, I wake.
An explorer of every pleasure’s niche,
my right arm humming, unconscious
from a precarious night’s pose.
We sip tea, and a second one too,
laying again exposed,
as we flick questions, discovering
passions and pursuits .
Clothed now in Hampstead, we part,
returning to our lives before this past morning,
our gaze locked, gasping reunion.
Enveloped in cotton I fidget
revolving in my sheets,
stabs of light piercing the venetian blinds.
Bemused by last night’s journey home.
My core nauseous
from spent pleasure
from the night before.
I was there,
in full force.
Regaling unfamiliar ears
with the same stories.
My eyes flee to all corners of my four walled hold,
liberation grasped through windows, stolen back.
Back to the luminescent glare of my old HP;
as I acquiesce to my paid servitude.
The week’s edge nears as time retreats,
the seconds absconding -drawing You ever closer.
Closer still, the embracing thoughts of Sunday’s sheets,
enveloping me –warm, contented, in your arms.
The sun shifts it’s glow,
it’s shine a moody amber,
casting shadows under the awning.
The air grows cold and clear
while we exclaim novel raison d’êtres,
planning passionately dreams of a life possible,
our minds filled with ill informed hope.
Our time dims twilight to our birth,
as we forecast a spring never-ending,
our blossom forever in bloom.
We share optimistic lies,
wishing on an unlikely future.
I dived in bed,
A brief respite before I leave.
For a moment I smelt you;
Your scent in my sheets,
I was happy.
I was with you.