Her Fantasys Death, Told to me

A poem about a lover's fantasy as she tells it to the reader as if they were the one she was talking about in sonnet form.

 

I didn’t slip your arm behind my back

I certainly did not sniff the hair I had just shampooed

I never rubbed against your cheek with tact

And I wouldn’t have asked if you washed your hair in the nude 

Or whether you prayed for sex in the shower alone

Then laid on your bed and thought as you dried,

Or touched your thumb where my lips had been on the phone

And kept it up until I was just about to have sighed

But I knew you would never have to do anything

Out of desperation but out of desire

As you filled my soul with what made my ears to ring

But when you finally kissed me the fires went . . . higher;

Wet in my bed I felt Realities cold damp breath

And lost your memory then though I hung on to my fantasy’s death!

Reviews

[Blue]

Chilling. This sent shivers down my spine. I like the conversational tone of this piece.