Unmade Bed.
She always left
the bed unmade,
left the sheets and covers
pushed back,
let in some air,
let the smells of night
and making love depart.
And there was
the occasional
making of love,
the now and then
exchange of fluids,
the kisses on flesh,
the fingerings,
the sighs and yeses,
the catching
of moonlight
through uncurtained
windows.
She left the bed
unmade like some
symbolic gesture;
a sign of this
is how it is
with me
statement.
Men and women
have wrestled
with love
and doubts here,
she seemed
to want to say.
Two indented pillows
on either side
[...] Read more
poem by Terry Collett
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
