A Poem for the Not Wedding

for Mark and Cat whose wedding would have been tomorrow
but will instead be another day

We’re sorry that lockdown has got in the way

of the planned celebration for your special day.

No feasting or speeches or exchanging of rings,

but thoughts and good wishes and virtual things.

Raising our glasses to you as is the fashion,

just a sip or two since our booze is on ration,

to toast to the future when, come what may,

you’ll have a good one, despite the delay!

 

---

Photo credit:  Tom the Photographer on Unsplash and clipart.com

Until we meet again

Wherever you go, know
I will watch out for you.

No, don’t look back!
Your future lies ahead.

Live it out, live it well
Be free, be happy!

Don’t turn around!
You’ll break the spell.

Know, my love
that I will be waiting

Until we meet
on the other side.

---

Written in response to Sadje’s What Do You See #20 photo prompt.
Image credit: Akshay Premjith, Pixabay

Gone

My love, how did I come to lose you?

You, the one to whom
I cleaved my heart, my soul
for all time.

Just a trace of you remains:
a hint of your scent in the clothes
you left behind.

Come back my love, so I can hold you again.

---

Written in response to Sadje’s What Do You See #16 photo prompt.
Photo credit: ‘Reflections’ by Yunus Emre Uzun

Yearning

All alone in the

big brass bed

you wait.

 

You’re late, my love!

 

Your body craves,

shivers, aches

with unfulfilled desires.

 

Where are you, my love?

 

A door bangs

A shutter creaks

He has come.

 

You are the moon

He is the night

You shine in his darkness

 

Engulfed by his touch,

slave to the rhythm

of his dance.

 

Later, in the empty bed

You wonder:

Was he really here?

 

Two ruby red droplets

on your pillow.

The legacy of his love.

 

 

The Perfect Man

How her heart fluttered at the very thought of him. This beautiful, wonderful man: tall, dark and handsome with olive skin and deep, probing brown eyes. She couldn’t believe that he’d chosen her. Never had she been so truly, madly, deeply in love. Her life was perfect. Complete.

Cliché after cliché toppled her reason. He lit up her world; he made the sunshine brighter, made her weak at the knees with a look. He made the earth move for her. Naughtily, especially with that tongue of his. She blushed at the thought. With total abandon he’d loved her and she’d loved him back. She’d explored every nook and cranny of his gorgeous, lithe, strong-limbed body. Felt the warmth of his breath, the strength of his heartbeat. The intimate tingle, that lingering consummation, together so perfectly ravished.

He was her perfect hero.

Such a shame she had only made him up.