Elusive Skirt

She hardly needed to be quiet as he

slept like someone satisfied,

as so he should be but

nevertheless she tiptoed

searching for her scattered clothes,

closed the bathroom door with a

delicate click, studied herself under the

harsh light: the marks he’d made

were raw but would fade.

She stole a fingerful of his

toothpaste to abate his taste,

dressed in haste, needing the

coffee her husband would have brewed,

careful her dangling shoes didn’t

bang the doorframe whilst she

scanned once more that

scuzzy floor for her

elusive skirt.

 

(Image used by kind permission of Holden-and-Camille.com  and Holden-and Camille.Tumblr.com to whom I am most grateful and you should go visit. The poem is my imagination and is not a reflection of their lifestyle)

Showers

Whilst she showered off their

commingled effusions, he preferred the

short, sharp shock of cold rain, but

something in the woodland tang of

pine, wild honeysuckle, the

unkempt rosemary, thyme,

love-in-idleness, roses

dripping attar, the distant

smoke of burning applewood and

something distinctly feral, in

heat somewhere, reminded him that

he had a woman within who could

never be satisfied but it was his

sworn duty to try.

 

(Image used by kind permission of Holden-and-Camille.com  and Holden-and Camille.tumblr.com to whom I am most grateful and you should go visit. The poem is my imagination and is not a reflection of their lifestyle)