Lovers become distant; Love becomes ritual.


STRANGERS

I passed you in the kitchen
You kissed me on my forehead
I took one of your dumplings
Still words are left unsaid

At your side of the bathroom
You stand and brush your teeth
I've finished putting on my perfume
But I still feel incomplete

You're waiting in the car now
Of course I start to rush
I must finish my eyebrows
Oh shoot- my hair! The brush-

I now have all my accoutrements
I'll finish what's left undone
I want to ask if you like my scent
And my hair as it is, in a bun

Again I dismiss the urge to ask
On the premise that you might not want to talk
If I'm wrong I suppose I'll never know
That's how the lives of strangers go

As we part we do the ritual kiss
Even though we don't feel the usual bliss
I wave goodbye as you drift away
But your distant eyes have nothing to say

Home again, the ritual hug
I pour you some coffee in the usual mug
We fall asleep in the ritual way
My head on your chest as I silently pray:

God, Please Bless this Bed Where Strangers Lay...


Cleopatra



Poetry by Cleopatra
Read 680 times
Written on 2007-03-12 at 09:19

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nature
your right Cleo its very similar
and i love it
2007-03-19


nature
this poem is so deep
so much pain captured in these lines
i almost cried
2007-03-12