She wanted to come to him
Naked and eager
Hands hot her toes trembling
But he needed
The spur of access denied
A hint of ravishment however flimsy
She offered herself – a gift
He wanted her – a prize
The sex was good
Polished and productive
But never quite raising
Wild winds of the moors
Or whispering the dialogue of trees
For her
Cynthia Buell Thomas
August, 2015
I like this a lot Cynthia particularly 'The whispering dialogue of the trees'.
Like very much.
<Deleted User> (13947)
Tue 11th Aug 2015 17:27
She offered herself – a gift
He wanted her – a prize
Those 2 lines spoke volumes to me. Perfection really! And I agree with you when it comes to getting the ideas down before sleep robs them from you.
For Her
the gift was never unwrapped.
For Him
he did not deserve the prize.
If you can't sleep you have to get up - and have a hot malt - or a few minutes of slow exercise - or write - or all of the above. Who knows the power of thought connection? But surely all poets know the NEED TO WRITE DOWN IDEAS before they fade. Sleep is like mud -the words will be gone in the morning. Such was the scenario - and here is the result - not instant, but as close as I can get, being me.
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Harry O'Neill
Thu 13th Aug 2015 13:02
Alas, Cynthia, `twas ever thus.
Or as one of my old negotiating buddies once passionately shouted out in (of all places) the middle of a very crowded
Waterloo station.
`If sex is so fantastic, and most of the population had it last night, why isn`t everyone walking around with a huge
smile on their face?`
(we got him out just before the police arrived)...:)