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Clocks Of Ticks And The Wrong.

Twenty twenty vision can't ensure
clarity of thought;
maybe the second decision was the right choice after all.
But first, let me tell you of a girl,
a quiet, average girl
and her quiet, average lover.

She went alone everywhere she went,
and came home to a man in her bed.
He spoke of things he spoke of all the time,
wasn't quite the library,
but she didn't mind.

She'd fetch him water and lie in his bed,
her arms wrapped around him,
not a word being said.

Often she would go alone
to the waves that lapped at her shame.
The salt smelled of her secret desires,
to command a crew, not a kitchen fire.

Her windows barred, her door with a lock,
the phone with the hook lost,
everyday was just past the time
to be something, someone she missed;
an apology at the foot of a grave.

In bed he lay, he'd always lie,
but she more than him.
Her legs they walked, she didn't move,
her lips they talked, she didn't speak.
But her heart still in his bed lies;
quadriplegic sympathy.

Author notes

Favorite Color: Dark Blue.

If anyone's wondering, this is more of the emotional betrayal and dishonesty [to oneself and to one's partner] than the physical act.

A contest entry

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Comments

1 - 6 of 6

  • alaskanamber
    April 9, 2008

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    It's too bad that some carry shame for what is perfectly natural. If she is betraying herself, who is she really? THis piece carries some heavy emotional messages on promiscuity. Thanks for entering poet and good luck.


  • Laughing Buddh
    April 3, 2008
    Edit | Reply
    loved it.........especially the ending


  • michellemybelle gold member
    April 3, 2008

    Edit | Reply
    unique take on the feelings and images of stagnation. The ending was a surprise, which is a good thing. I liked this a lot. thanks for your entry and good luck.
    blessings,
    Michelle

1 - 6 of 6