She Moves Through

She moved through my life, a half-forgotten dream,
enticing me beyond temptation's endurance,
beyond sleepy words uttered as if in trance
in worlds in which words appear as they seem.
But scratch away the plastic veneer in moments
of sobriety, in instances of inspired lucidity,
and all her kisses were silent laments
she would willingly give another duplicitously.
when licking her lips in temptress pose
one could scarcely wonder why she chose
to place her kisses in unfamiliar places
unless they were meant for another.
She forgot herself and which lover
had hidden their pillowed haunting faces
amid crowds of vacant, languid stares.
A liar's love can answer no one's prayers.

Responses

4 comments so far.

1. Niko says:

   I suppose I am partial to love poetry ... but, love is bliss! I can't get enough of it, hence I live it! Write about it!

2. Orpheus . says:

   This poem suggests two delicate flavours - WB Yeats and Ernest Dowson (a self-educated Latin scholar). Both were, in their own right, decadents. The originality is in the form and in the message, a subversive message that undermines the whole decadent school of writing, in a way. There is an older tradition at work here and that is the morality movement of the Elizabethan romanticist age. Think of Ben Jonson, Samuel Johnson and Sydney. I dig poetry, not just my own. This is a love poem - it entreats us to become faithful, considerate and discerning in our romances. It is not just about physicality but an expression of character.
   I would love to discuss this with someone.

3. Randall Kell says:

   Honestly I thought you got much too wordy, you could have said so much more with so much less and it would have had much more meaning. Then again I am a fan of poems that leave something to the imagination, whereas your poetry seems to be nothing but imagery. You're good, but slim it down and let the reader think, dont give them everything like you did in this piece.

4. Orpheus . says:

   Randall, keep looking.