(15/07/56 / Curragh Camp, Co. Kildare, Eire.)

Until Dusk

You are sitting
on a stool

looking directly
(unnervingly)
of me.

One leg
casually raised

(unafraid of your nudity)

the other stretched out
as far as it will go

on the tiled floor

as if you were a chess piece
come alive.

You are an oil painting.

And this
oil painting

of you

now sits
upon the stool

that you sit upon
in the painting.

I gaze back at it

Imagining the sweat
on your upper lip

the realness
of your kiss

until dusk
gathers you up

and hides you
from my loneliness.

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Comments (1)

As ever, your sense of pathos, the sadness of lost love....amazes me. How well you recall the depth of loneliness, and write about it.