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Lori (the shadow of a lighter poem)


Lori, I'm not in love with you, but I do think that you are pretty;
so with a pathetic chance to smile, I was willing to take your hand.
I could not understand it though, before now, you never talked to me, 
and I had only known your name as another face within the crowd.
   Yet, here we are, holding hands, talking; should instead, as I wonder, why,
   as I follow your lead, anticipation, outside, into the night.

Across this parking lot and through the gate, in the freezing air, behind;
The crystal ring around the moon; we find warmth, exhausting from within.
We sat talking on that metal grate, overlooking the gym-day fields.
An illusion; was that warming steam, as a spot drier from the snow.

I was like a blind man, being led; the untrained soldier in the field.
But your permissive eyes, asked me, if I was willing to keep you warm?
So, as I reach behind you, my hand: with your hip and mine, now closer.
As I turn my eyes, in yours I see; to find your tongue and mine now touch
   My rising hand finds your warming skin; cold fingers, shivers, down your spine
   A postured arch, rising chin disarms, your ear lobe and neck:  elating

As I climb the stairs at the hallways end, for she said that she'd be there
Should I kiss her or maybe later, how should I act in public view
As she had told me, she'd be waiting; and, with an unknown friend, she was
They were laughing as she glanced at me, she said, "I told you that he would"


© Jeffrey Spencer

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