woman is no illusion

upon far ocean,

she is seen and waits,

rough cobbled harbor wall,

to this they come,

wife, prostitute, lover, mother, daughter

they seek the man or men,

who cast off

to become part of vessels,

over wave and flounder home,

gone so long with tentative hearts,

that could constrict,

would embraces and kisses come

or would hands be left unheld

embraces undone,

awkward silence on the wall

an unsure reunion ,

played out in a longing fantasy

the woman with dark hair

in sweet obsidian shine

held a fixative gaze,

she wished to cast off dress to underskirt

take hold of her man,

dance quick steps folding within each other,

taste open salt upon his brow,

relish in callused touch,

his voice a shanty that lilts her heart,

barefoot ascension to that place

beyond passions linger,

cold shuddered she waited,

he waved

the fantasy felt assured.



  1. Tess Kincaid says:

    This ones shines like sweet obsidian…

  2. jabblog uk. says:

    Many strands to consider in this poem.

  3. Karen S. says:

    Oh this is sensual and open to feeling between your lines….funny how we all read these, and can walk away feeling it long after…and even still, those lines you write, are understood in all of our own lives….that’s what makes poetry so darn wonderful, right. I love it when a poem makes me ponder…and think….!

  4. Berowne says:

    Not all that far from what I had to say – so, thanks!

  5. Trellissimo says:

    Plenty to read between the lines here.

  6. ladynimue says:

    loved reading this !

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