Spilt Silk
Silk spills from her suitcase
and love is a careless thrown scarf
around long elegant necks.
She watches through the scented night
of unfamiliar décor,
as packet teas and coffees
lie like soldiers on a tray.
She idly wonders if he likes his coffee black,
or perhaps they will dispense altogether
and lie like lovers beneath
crisp white sheets
sharing bubbles of surprise
from cheap hotel glasses.
This is not the midnight raids
Of laughing childhood,
eating stolen food beneath a
canopy and jumble of bedclothes
cross legged with nightdresses
bunched around their knees.
Crumbs are no longer fun
and fizzy drinks are bought
in bottles proudly bearing labels
of an indifferent champagne.
If she opens the drapes
just a shade
will she watch that long lost innocence
cavorting down unfamiliar streets?
Nowadays she likes to lie
with one leg possessively stretched
and the lines and sinews of their bodies
elongated and filled with
Sated sighs.
© EMG05
Copyright © Emma Forrest | Year Posted 2005
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