The Gasp



She sees him across the room
and already her heart’s abloom.
It’s been so long since she saw him last;
Will he remember as much as her of the past?

She is nervous now as she remembers
what happened that night they glowed as embers.
She blushes as the memory tingles,
and for a short time with that she mingles.

But all of a sudden with a snap
as if ensnared by a fool’s trap
she finds herself back in the present -
his accent floats across the room ascendant.

That typical Canadian emphasis
and that voice from his mouth that she longs to kiss.
But she stays in her seat at the bar
as he begins to play on his guitar.

And she listens as he plays
as he did that night their love was ablaze.
She stares and stares and stares at him
until he looks up at her through the dim.

He smiles that crooked smile
that she knew so well for a while
and suddenly she knows for certain:
This evening will not end with a closing curtain.

He gets up from his chair, acknowledging applauds
but to him they are all but frauds.
All but one: the girl on the chair
who sits and waits so solitaire.

She holds her drink between her hands
Her fingers carefully and slowly caressing
The cool condensation on the glass;
Oh yes, this is a girl with class.

He comes up and stands behind her
and without looking she says: “Monsieur,
will you join me tonight as a true connoisseur?
To judge this bourbon will you with me confer?”

She feels him reaching out his hand
to oh so gently touch her waist.
His fingers slip around to expand
the memory he has come to taste.

As she feels his tender touch
she cannot help to let out a gasp
that betrays her feelings inasmuch
as her face remains closed as a clasp.





Poetry by Lea Foverskov
Read 308 times
Written on 2007-07-21 at 12:06

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Winston Latanafrancia Soldevilla
AS I read your poem I feel like I am watching a movie in a slow motion waiting for the next turn of event. I guess the title fits itself 'cause I felt like gasping too. Lovely story!
2007-10-06