Poetry (39)

Hello Escritori,

This one isn’t clever, it’s just honest.




I’m going to bed

Which is the best place in the world

Whether you’re there or not.


I wish I could confide

Sliding into the ceaseless

But silent, fast

White water of my

Nocturnal thoughts

To someone.


To show them

How bright

The water is

In the dark:

But how the restlessness

Of it tires me.

Hold me.

Gift me silence



So I address this

To Darling,

Wherever he is,

Like Benjamin and

Daisy saying


Over decades.


I was so disappointed

By the Fitzgerald original.

But I will never stop saying


That I like going to bed with Scott

And staying there on Sundays.


The sound of this nocturnal tide

Is exteriorised

Only by the crackle of sheets,

A sigh, a murmur

And waiting

To fall asleep.

Wondering what

You will smell like

And if your whisper

Will melt me,

And eventually

How we

Will fit together


And how much you’ll hog the duvet

And exclaim at my cold feet.


I would like to know

That this kayak

Will never dash

On the rocks

Because I trust you,

Above all others

In ways countless

In number.

Even when being pulled

In a tide of musings

On the way to slumber.


And know that

When you really exist

I will feel almost

Physically sick

Finding the courage

To tell you this.

I am too afraid to dream,

I really must desist.


I’m not very good at trust

But it would mean the world if

We could just


And let the rest

Be figured out

With gentleness.


(© Copyright Pola Negri 26/03/2016.)

















2 thoughts on “Poetry (39)

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