In the darkness
a door

from a dream,
I was startled to hear
that it was raining.
Drops roared on the roof,
like the sound
of rough canvas
painted completely black.
Lightning stabbed
the sky
and convulsed through windows,
underneath eyelids.
Sometimes, the wind.
Sometimes. Sometimes.
I could hear the streets
awash with discarded jerseys,
of naked water, primal, uncouth,
rushing unchecked through
the night.
I closed my eyes.

Suddenly a smell,
from the door
that opened me.
The scent splintered
until it spread
like an intricate parasol.
The rain ran and kicked
and spat and vandalised
sacred nocturnes.
Closer to me,
the new scent
reached my face
until I felt it
rebound off my breath.
A faded glass stopper
opened a bottle
full of shadows,
blades of grass
left muddy ground.
A gutter overflowed,
the sound
of a pile of clothes
Then a soft fruit,
warm from the sun,
was squashed between
misted glass.
It was the sound
of a kiss
as it dropped
from your mouth
into mine.

on the pavement
and in the trees,
the rain repeated
the sound
until eventually
it, too,

by Oliver Roberts

Other poems of ROBERTS (33)

Comments (1)

Oliver...does this lover have a name? Does she fold her clothes or toss them in a pile. Is she real? Just some thoughts. Interesting poem here, but some of the imagery gets confused for me. Take care, John