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A final letter from the heart my love



You sat in Vermeer’s room, maid by side;
As daylight positioned at your writing place,
Decanted through the stained glass view-
Where she did stand; there; observing
Those that came and went.
Your quill did match your heart that morn’
For it beat your breasts with all your love
As the busy conquests drew to a close.
Waiting there, as long as those drapes hung,
That very room where once, you tasted intimacy-
While others found Moses; and looking on.
Your seal remains floored reminding your maid
That her ways were mere pacifiers- those days;
Such an amusing and sweet thing she was.
And of your meeting place? She did ready,
While you napped, that afternoon slipped by,
As your Alfred and Francesca stole away; and you?
Gathered yourself, returning and only keeping  diary;
Of thoughts, moments in time, betrayed in ways
Similar to those your maid witnessed as you wrote;
For nothing is ever as ordinary as that painted,
In a room Vermeer visited with his brush.

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