XXXI Days of Poetry - Day the Twenty-eighth
and Darkness tender
Dewdrops of Night
gently coat the world.
Thick black-grey ink,
soaked up by parched
parchment, its secret
shrouded awhile longer.
Silence soft, and Darkness tender
She lies in bed covered in a cloak of Night.
Invisible are the tear stains that long-since
washed away her makeup in rivulets down her face.
Eyes so red and swollen they are virtual slits,
she is grateful for the comforting darkness.
No one to see her private shame. Not even her.
Allowed to just let it go, and let it be,
and let the numbness finally wash over.
Silence, soft, and Darkness, tender
He could feel her quiver next to him;
nerves, excitement, anticipation, and
just the slightest shivery touch of fear.
She trembled at his touch, feeling the
drops of persperation bloom across her
very-soon-to-be tongue-scratched skin.
He knew where to put his hands on her
body, not all can say the same. Sure,
there are the areas everyone thinks of;
they are important, but there are other
areas, hidden spots, on a woman's body,
just as there are hidden chambers to a
woman's heart, and he knew where these
were, and knew how to find those that
were specific to just her. More than
knowing where to put his hands, though,
he know How to put his hands on her body,
how hard, soft, rough, gently, in order
to guide her to where she wanted to go,
where she dreamt of going but had never
been; where she didn't know was possible.
XXXI Days of Poetry (2016)
Read more Poetry, including previous year's "31 Days"
Intro: "Atropos (The Fates)" by Francisco Goya (1746–1828)
Outtro: "Twilight my eternal damnation" self-portrait photographed by Sandy Damanse - see her artwork]