- Non-Erotic Poetry
- Dewdrop
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I knew what he needed
in the second that it took
to swallow cappuccino
confessions at three a.m.
and against my better judgment
I extended comfort’s hand
to brush the wisps of hair
and dreams, fallen in his eyes.
I took him home silently
curled into his leather,
treading dew drenched leaves,
forging a slippery path.
It was after he’d sunk in
that I queried what I’d done,
and if he’d ever leave,
and how I’d slip away.
- COMMENTS
LeBrozover 16 years agoThis poem was mentioned in the Archival Review thread, in a picking through Lit's archive of over 37,500 poems.
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ishtatover 18 years agoGets better with re-reading .I get a very clear image of a woman thinking these thoughts.
sackover 18 years agoI sort of see it as Master/Slave but the ambiguity (for once) adds to this poems power.
dcpoet44over 18 years agohere that i'm picking up. very nice imagery indeed. it certainly leaves one hanging on the what if. that's my take....don
