The Answer

There was a wind
winding down from star to sea,
whipping along eastern ranges,
whispering strange words in accented syllables,
a Romanian Shakespearean rag,
sometimes humming something from The Weekend.

Sometimes a muse must be answered.

There were scrubs worn in the imaging room,
fancy dress for after,
the hint of musk on curving neck begging for a sniff,
there’s was that kiss and caress,
fingers to skin – oh, baby, that skin!
And the whisper of cloth dropping,
the dropping clickety-clack of high heels along a wooden floor.

Sometimes a muse must be answered.

There were those words, foreign accented,
challenging: querying and teasing,
a sip of gin, a taste of oyster,
the need to meet, to great,
and skirt along our freedoms –
the glowing heart, the dark eyed look.

Sometimes a muse must be answered.

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About Martin

I'm just... filling time.
This entry was posted in Creative Writing, Poem, poetry, Uncategorized and tagged , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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