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Robert Fincham Poem
A LADY
"No lady am I." she would say with force,
tensing her shoulders and shaking her head.
I would smile and say, "Yes dear, but of course."
knowing she was truly a lady bred.
A spirited woman by her own design,
Dianne would speak out just what she thought.
Biting her own tongue was just too benign.
Being equal to men is what she sought.
A lady to pamper, that she was not.
A woman to love is what I knew well.
Inside that body was a love so hot.
She kept it hidden beneath a thin shell.
Woman of passion forever to shine.
I love you my lady, forever mine.
Copyright © Robert Fincham | Year Posted 2014
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Details |
Robert Fincham Poem
THE BRUSH
I stand in my shower covered with soap.
I rinse off alone. I feel out of phase.
I see the brush hanging there by its rope.
Unused it has hung for many long days.
Used by Dianne, caressing her body.
It gave pleasure while cleaning her back.
The brush explored, sensual not bawdy.
Its use she applied with love and a knack.
I live my life much like that of the brush.
No longer do I caress her with love.
Nor give her pleasure, making her blush.
For now she looks upon us from above.
Today all alone, we both try to cope.
I covered with soap, the brush on its rope.
Copyright © Robert Fincham | Year Posted 2014
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