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Poetry
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| The End of the Affair | |
| By brolgablue | ||||||||||
| 19 October 2006 | ||||||||||
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Have dinner with me? At my place? I can cook you know. Hunger sated, Relaxing in his arms. Warmed by that enticing red, I give up myself to his charm. He leads me to his room, My head is spinning. His body is firm and tanned He knows all the moves His lips find all my secret places And I am released. Sleep overcomes, then morning dawns. Waking lady stretches, yawns. Alone in crumpled sheets I hear Kitchen noises, clattering plates And bubbling kettle call. My first breakfast with my new love. Aromas of fragrant coffee, bread toasting Awaken my senses. Dreamily I take my place at his table. "Oh!", he says, “You are a butter digger, not a butter scraper”.
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