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
Labels:
affair,
dancing,
kitchen drama,
love,
magpie tales.poems,
upstairs downstairs
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Ah, your details bring me right in with your "dirty lunchtime dancers" having their bit of fun. Well done.
ReplyDeleteNicely described in detail :)
ReplyDeleteChopping onions & back to daily grind after the tryst!
A stolen moment beautifully captured.
ReplyDeleteHope noone is cutting anyone elses lunch !
ReplyDeleteLovely textures and scents...the form works well too...
ReplyDeleteBeautiful. Sensual. Vivid. Love this!
ReplyDelete