Poetry (12)

Hello Escritori,

I didn’t actually plan on adding any preamble to this post, but I’m excited to say the picture book lecture I’m attending is happening next week and will probably be part of my Tuesday post – in a break with tradition.

I also have a job interview on Wednesday  – case of right place right time methinks! – and so I’m busy preparing for that but fear not, Scribblers… I have posts in reserve for you! Wish me luck. Cross all possible cross-able things.

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The Animus

I dreamt last night

That I had found

‘The One’

And everyone was

Happy and touched,

At my spectacular

Good luck.

 

And for me

The relief,

Of now, legally,

Being able

To open up

The floodgates of passion,

Was equally anticipation

And a dawning revelation.

 

No more restraint.

 

Then like a little girl,

I started walking

The garden wall:

In a fit of daring

Joie de vivre.

 

And thought:

“I’m happy with my choice,

Others don’t stand a chance.

I am reconciled to the

Sense of righteous

Completeness

In finding you –

At last.”

 

Then through the crowd

Came another

That was you.

As you are often

Wont to do

In my dreams.

 

From my vantage point

I saw your head, your stride,

Your eyes,

I prayed the dream would shift

And you would pass by:

Instead of being somehow

Inexorably magnetised.

 

No. I thought, Go!

Why are you here?

Not you.

When I woke

I cursed my

Unconscious too.

 

You saw me standing

On the squat grey wall,

Poise becoming precarious…

And proffered your hand

As strangers greeting do,

A gesture most chivalrous.

I beg…

I have no need of you

Any more. Animus.

 

Was the only reason you advanced

To help me walk the wall

In a slow, one handed dance?

 

At the least

I was flustered

And at most

Vexed.

Your touch was like

A rush of sex.

 

It wasn’t one

I did not trust,

It was just…

Unexpected.

Bone-melting,

Flesh-cherishing,

Overwhelming,

Delirious.

 

As opiate plumes

Of desire curled

Inside me,

I heard my voice

Ask, with difficulty:

“Wait. Have we…?

Do I…?”

 

Smiling,

With my hand

Your respected prize:

Gallant,

Warm voiced,

And radiant eyed,

“No.”

You replied.

 

“But how else

Do I know you?”

I said.

I would’ve tangled

My hands in your hair

And wept.

 

Instead…

I woke.

Alone.

In bed.

(© Copyright Pola Negri 26/09/2015.)

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