Spilt Silk

Silk spills from her suitcase and love is a careless thrown scarf around long elegant necks. She watches through the scented night of unfamiliar décor, as packet teas and coffees lie like soldiers on a tray. She idly wonders if he likes his coffee black, or perhaps they will dispense altogether and lie like lovers beneath crisp white sheets sharing bubbles of surprise from cheap hotel glasses. This is not the midnight raids Of laughing childhood, eating stolen food beneath a canopy and jumble of bedclothes cross legged with nightdresses bunched around their knees. Crumbs are no longer fun and fizzy drinks are bought in bottles proudly bearing labels of an indifferent champagne. If she opens the drapes just a shade will she watch that long lost innocence cavorting down unfamiliar streets? Nowadays she likes to lie with one leg possessively stretched and the lines and sinews of their bodies elongated and filled with Sated sighs. © EMG05