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.
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.