Undercurrents
I dream of making love
to people I do not like.
She is brittle, cold. We hate to meet,
always a discomfort in the pit of the stomach
at her approach.
On a moon-soaked improbable beach;
we are lovers waiting for the surf.
when the ocean arrives,
we swirl into each other
like melding tide-pools.
My ex-wife settles into my bed,
kisses me on the cheek.
I drape an arm around her
already aroused.
For a while we dream
through the same window.
Copyright © Eric Ashford | Year Posted 2019
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