Who was she?

This is an awkward thought to think
Skin to inhabit
The other woman’s
She had a date with you there
that place where only men and women go
No children welcome.
And there I was
the one left behind
While you went on your jaunts
By yourself,
you told me so earnestly
But that was untrue –
You had been there,
just not on your own


My lover hasn’t been in the pinkest of health recently and in a sympathetic mood I called up an oldie to share with him:

Laid low, not by la belle dame
but a virus sans merci
I alternate between heat
and shivering clamminess
so that sleep eludes me
with an ache so unbearable
It leaves me trembling, wearied
Until I give in, reach out
For that panacea, one little pill
that sends me drowsily Lethe-ward
to dream of an angelic nightingale,
abandon my body to what she will
even as wingèd Morpheus watches on
and softly weaves his soporific spell.

In happy disarray


There was a time when I was not in love –
and thrilled quite carelessly with every man:
Delighting in all the pleasure they gave
between pauses, sighs, and whispers of passion
with anticipation in taxicabs
in corridors of underground stations
at street corners and pavements ere parting
in dark passages off the beaten track,
in the comfort of old film theatres,
along the Thames or in a forest glade.
Since you appeared I’ve been in disarray
from that night when we lingered and languored;
yours the kisses I now ache for, and count
the spans of time until we meet again.

This fragrant memory of my lover lingers

Reworked, from an old poem once inspired originally by a lover now long gone.  The present one left his lingering trace when he stayed over one night midweek.

Softly roused, I lie wrapped in the linen
the same one last night with the crisp fragrance
until we lay on it and in between;
I revel in its crumpled redolence –
a memory of our urgent embrace
lays waste my chaste plans to quietly sleep
Distracted by your lingering musky trace
I slip, dream-filled into moist fleshfolds deep.
Savouring a piquant bouquet, erotic
invoking swells and ebbing, rhythmic
The images of our evening’s frolic
in sharp relief against my mind’s optic
I draw in, like a drug this aroma
It calls up your sensual persona.

the dance of back and forth

I back away, one, two, in measured steps
My eyes hold you there, safer from afar
We can only smile and don’t go over
that awkward ground, where this fragile tendresse
fell to pieces that night. We skirt the shards
of broken hope slowly and carefully
Drawing ever widening ellipses
until I cannot see you anymore.

But you stride forward on a bloody trail
And sweep aside protestation, to hold
my face between your palms with your dark gaze
I am won over by this act so bold
Meet your lips with mine, my body ablaze
Eager to drink from your accursèd grail