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About This Poem
spectator
the hour late, I hesitate
to lift the shield of isolation
the walls lean in, as if to hear
they make believe, by breathing hard,
that they are sleeping,
but I am wise to them, I am...
I know the sound, I know of eyes...
these walls have souls that live within
the air is solid, the light is dim
beyond my window, summer stirs
a sleuth that leers... , absurd it seems,
but watching me, I feel the burn
he shuffles in, with shades of black
a muffled step, through restless leaves
I catch my breath, ......yet strange, ....at ease
the curtain pants, with pulsing veins
I brush my hair, step out of clothes...
wait one moment to compose...
slip on nightdress,
holding close my other self
the one who never dares to take a chance
I want to dance the seven veils,
for eyes that dwell beyond the glass
beyond my dream, ....they look at me
two eyes,they watch in black and white,
I feel the burning of the night
the suddenness of who I am...
who she is, ...I hardly know her
she has no shame
wanton, willing in the dark
she is sliding in the crisp black grass
I douse the light.........and step up close
to look again, through window's pane
no questions asked
the eyes aren't there.....
in black and white.......there by the gate...
nothing waits....
becoming clear
but I don't care......
in isolation............the walls are falling
and have old souls
I know they stare
I'll dance for them
I know for certain
they are there
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Inspired by John Heck's Contest: "Visceral!"
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