Potted Flowers with Books IV Eric Barjot Story of a Hotel Room Thinking we were safe - insanity! We went in to make love. All the same Idiots to trust the little hotel bedroom. Then in the gloom... ...And who does not know that pair of shutters With the awkward hook on them All screeching whispers? Very well then, in the gloom We set about acquiring one another Urgently! But on a temporary basis Only as guests - just guests of one another's senses. But idiots feel so safe you hold back nothing Because the bed of cold, electric linen Happens to be illicit... To make love as well as that is ruinous. Londoner, Parisian, someone should have warned us That without permanent intentions You have absolutely no protection - If the act is clean, authentic, sumptuous, The concurring deep love of the heart Follows the naked work, profoundly moved by it. Rosemary Tonks (17th October 1928 - 15th April 2014) |
Thursday 17 July 2014
The Thursday Poem
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