rejection

I couch myself, crouched arse out, towards you,
Smooth and perfumed, polished clean.
Your eyes should travel down my back, flared like a cello at the hip.
Down the length, white and shining of my legs
To the shiny red heels.
See the contrast, white and soft, warm dimpled
And the shiny, brittle, violent, vinyl shine.
Ohh, that you would be the hard to my soft
Tense to my dimpled
Taut to my submissive.
Yet you throw yourself down on the down.
Your meaty arm flung slack across the pillow
And your breath lengthens
To sleep.
I draw my face towards the wall
And weep.

◄ Little Clock

Snow ►

Comments

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Ann Foxglove

Fri 8th Jan 2010 17:51

Hi Rach - are you going to tag your poem? Are we supposed to? Are you too modest? I haven't tagged mine, but Isobel asked me to. But I wouldn't do it unless you tagged yours, as you won. This sounds like a schoolgirlish plot behind the bike sheds. But I have just had a glass of champagne - all the booze left in the house with being snowed in and all, so I've gone pleasantly potty! I love you! I love everyone on WOL! ;-)

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Patricia and Stefan Wilde

Tue 29th Dec 2009 15:52

hi Rachel-I have not read a better poem than this in ages-stunning! my regards and thanks

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Augusta Darling

Tue 29th Dec 2009 14:19

Superb writing once again, taken from life or imagined ..it is well observed and your poetry is excellent.
Well done .
Augusta x

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John Darwin

Tue 29th Dec 2009 13:13

And it contains my favourite word (arse) :-)

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John Darwin

Tue 29th Dec 2009 13:12

Rachel, tremendous, love the resolution (possibly the wrong word) at the end.

Thanks

John

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Ann Foxglove

Tue 29th Dec 2009 12:39

Do you mind the fact that everyone always assumes that the poems we write are based on ourselves? This is such a strong, personal poem, but you could have invented the scenario. I feel that I'd like to write a poem and leave it open as to whether it is based on me and my experiences. If you write a novel about a mass murderer, people don't assume you are a nmass murderer. Or is it that poetry is always a sort of truth? Don't know. lotsoflove ;-)

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winston plowes

Mon 28th Dec 2009 23:09

There are some superb sections in this one Rachel. Keep posting. marvelous. Win

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John Aikman

Mon 28th Dec 2009 20:54

Your (wonderful) poem reminds me that I should be braver. I have tried to write such provocatively exposing stuff...but have failed. This is a triumph. A real gem.

Thank you.

Jx

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Isobel

Mon 28th Dec 2009 19:36

Love your poetry Rachel - you make yourself understood so beautifully. Not sure I've ever been there - but yes - relationships do break down and people do disappoint. The reader feels with you...

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Ann Foxglove

Mon 28th Dec 2009 14:30

oh Rachel, we've all been here I think! A beautiful poem - maybe he just had too much christmas dinner? If only men and women could be telepathic sometimes! (Not all the time!)

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Cynthia Buell Thomas

Mon 28th Dec 2009 13:40

You are amazing; great poem; all fabulous lines like: 'flared like a cello at the hip'; 'Your meaty arm flung slack'. I'm presuming anal sex isn't necessarily the end goal. Not making fun - couldn't resist. Probably it's the standard curved position of two persons sharing a bed, for the 'tuck' of body contact.

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