The ghost of a perfect night.

The ghost of a perfect night.

As the wind stirred to call up day (i)

They stirred beneath silken sheets

Entwined, willing the night not to end

The time between meeting and consummation

Passed pleasurably

Melted by her eyes of living blue

A smile, its warmth would melt icebergs

He was smitten

His wasted heart

Breathed new life into him

Life was drifting by

He was as they say, a dead man walking

She waltzed into his life

New fools are born every day?

She kissed him tenderly, showered

He lay there, waiting her return

Drifting off into a dream filled slumber

Eventually he awoke, no lady of the night

Safe rifled, car absent from driveway

Heart again broken.

©Chris Black.

5^th April 2020

Poetry from The Man Shed

~The Poet’s Poet~ (i) Line from a Thomas Hardy poem A Tramp woman’s tragedy.