The Lover

And she’s lying there.
She’s just lying here
next to me.

Her limbs behaving
like some sentient things,
sifting through the nighttime air
and swaying to their own pulse.
Her face twitching
in the coming dusklight
filtered through tempered glass.
The feathered quilt
brushed aside.
Her body warm.
Soft guilt
wracking her lips
almost speaking out loud
what it is she dreams of.
Her breasts hanging
there exposed.
Her hair smelling of nutmeg and
warm afternoons on the patio.
The tiny imperfections of her skin
like some great work of art
that can only be viewed
steps away,
the closer one gets
the quicker you lose the pieces
of who she is.
Her mascara running
in chunky streaks.
Flushed cheeks.
Her chest moving
updown in tempo—
she’s dreaming now,
of us.

~ by yearzerowriters on July 28, 2010.

4 Responses to “The Lover”

  1. this put a very clear image in my head and I know what she looks like.
    great stuff, Rob
    -Sabina

  2. thanks. i liked the idea of really painting this scene for the reader, really putting you there.

  3. I like this very much. It feels like lyrics – do you not think, though perhaps, given the opening, that the lyrics it feels like are Snow Patrol’s Chasing Cars?

  4. I could see that, Dan.

    And yes, they seemed much more lyrical than my previous poems…which I quite enjoy in this instance.

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