The Morning After
I loved the way she fixed my shirt,
and smoothed out the creases,
At night tore the thing from me....
but morning's shirt wasn't for love,
when I had to walk among men first,
and grow weary of their violence ----
She loved the way I counted the hours
and dreamed of midnight romance;
and Kashmir-blown curtains
full moon streaming upon our stage
of silver sheets and red candles,
a terrace to stroll ----
not too long,
before taking her past the hour, again....
(til she was full of me beyond measure....)
Exhausted, shirtless,
til come morn she fixed my shirt,
and smoothed out the creases...
Copyright © Keith O.J. Hunt | Year Posted 2014
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem.
Please
Login
to post a comment