Saturday, April 16, 2016

She knows

Once she read
to me,
like story time
only better, the
most beautiful girl
in the world.

Something sad,
and funny,
quirky but good.
She read of
raindrops bruising
flower petals.
I watched her
read, the way
her lips shaped
the words her
expression framed
each mood.

She knows
I love her.

She watches me
sometimes with
eyes more wonderful
than any seven
things ever,
present or past.
She looks at me
and her eyes that
whisper passages
in French about
love making
hold me rapt.
I do not speak
French but crave her
attentions sans pudeur

and she knows.

A pretty girl took
her away to sleep
under electric blankets
and watch movies
about other times
and loves.
Chick porn I say,
and she laughs
tells the pretty girl
that only
porn is porn
but chick flicks
are great too.
I begin writing
this poem as
they leave me.

She knows no one
will ever see it.

I share her love
with another and
ours is the one held
quiet as sin.
I love her
silent and secret.
It is enough
for me that

she knows.

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