Sunday, 18 January 2015

Lunchbreak


you hold me
near
my hands reek
of pressed garlic
your coarse stubble
rubs
a blush to my face
fingernails stained black
                     an indian ink splattered shirt
                     tangos with my flour dusted apron
                     we are the disheveled
                     the  dirty lunchtime dancers
                     bright midday sun our spotlight
the daily grind
forgotten
our illicit  moment grasped in a frayed collar
my hair falls in abandon to your touch
holding  my eyes you read a novel
understanding every word written there
                    a bell rings
                    a door opening in the distance
                    rain clouds start gathering at one
                    abashed i turn
                    re-pin  my wayward hair
                    and begin chopping onions.

KD 18/1/15

The others are here at magpie tales no.254




6 comments:

  1. Ah, your details bring me right in with your "dirty lunchtime dancers" having their bit of fun. Well done.

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  2. Nicely described in detail :)
    Chopping onions & back to daily grind after the tryst!

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  3. A stolen moment beautifully captured.

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  4. Hope noone is cutting anyone elses lunch !

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  5. Lovely textures and scents...the form works well too...

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  6. Beautiful. Sensual. Vivid. Love this!

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