Something to Write About


Petal of a pelargonium - taken in the evening ...

Image via Wikipedia

I never had
to suppose,

Why some of
the shades she never closed,

The shades
facing me,

Were left
open so I could see,

It was a
ritual,

Turning on
the tap,

Pouring in
her bath soaps,

Knowing it
would raise my hopes,

Let the pink
bubbles rise,

While I’d
pretend to be surprised,

Always the
same routine,

But a feast
for my eyes,

She called
it her private heaven,

Every day
about seven,

She’d soak
away,

All the
troubles of her day,

Sprinkling
rose petals that were real,

Saying the
petals made her feel,

Like a
thirsty flower soaking in the rain,

Then she
would undress, leaving me in pain,

As she
slipped into the curative water,

To soak with
her eyes closed,

Occasionally
she would peek,

To see if I was
watching, I supposed,

Wrinkled when
she emerged,

She would lift her breasts as an offering,

And look at
me always smiling,

As she
stepped out to dry,

Her eyes
would question why,

With a nod
and a wink,

She always
made me think,

Seeing her
in all her glory,

Indicated her
willingness,

To be part
of my story,

“Now you
have something,

To write
about,” she would say,

“Make your
story good enough,

To make my
day,”

When my
broken bones,

Were on the
mend,

I went to see
my friend,

But she had
simply flown away,

That’s what
I say,

And there’s
no doubt,

She gave me
something to write about.

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3 thoughts on “Something to Write About

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