, , ,

Swishing silk and Gucci

A hurried kiss, inadequate glimpse

His earliest memories, filtering through a sweet smoke

Fever, delirium, a fleeting cool touch

Never complete, never enough.

Rebellion, speed, futile efforts

A screech of brakes, jingle jangle

Mangled forever. A crutch, a chair

She was not there to piece the bits

A long wait since childhood

He knew it was love…or something like it.

Mismatched, dissatisfied

Her days a flurry, a foil

To the emptiness, the yawning chasm

Solace in tinkling silver clinking cheers

The euphoria, the ecstasy, the receding walls

Straight into His world, but cautiously

Small hotels and hideaways, never restaurants

The climaxing moment clouding

Memories of tiny forlorn eyes back home.

But never the holidays, waterproof mascara

A long wait until his wife left town.

She hoped it was love…or something like it.

Orphaned, proud, twisted and shaped

into power, He had finally arrived.

She was his pot of gold and the rainbow

Was gone. A contract, a compromise

To be adhered till death did part

But there were ways, and there were hopeful days

When she left town.

Leaving behind a living proof

Of their mutual misery, Aloof

A part of them but always apart

Surrendering childhood expectations, she had

Little icicles lodged in her heart.

She belonged to herself

And he was not allowed an audience

His one soft spot, the proverbial chink

A long wait for acceptance.

He was afraid it was love, or something like it.


Her tormentor and her

Friend in the dark

Unwanted, an accident, another compromise

Sometimes a thread, holding together

Two struggling spirits.

But she had her furry friends, amber-eyed purrs

Happy to walk into her trap, stuffed

And displayed, in her room which was safe

Since no-one ever came.

He was in her school, endearing empathy

He looked as twisted as she felt.

A strange bond, comforting crutches

He would never run away, never leave town

A long wait for him to notice.

She insisted it was love…or something like it.