A Lover Of Sorts Poem by Lori Boulard
A Lover Of Sorts
He gives me that look
and I know what's coming.
I set down my book and we get to it.
For this long together we are better
than most. But lying there with him,
I lie, there, with him.
As a sunrise of lamplight crests
the timberline of his balding skull,
I experiment with words in exotic positions
rolling them, naked on my paper brain
until there is nothing more to say,
no ink left in the pen,
and we reach across each other
only to turn out the light.
A masterful write, Lori... hope your brain never runs out of paper. Brian
I gave it a 10, I thought it was going in a diffrent direction, , , , , Than what I anticipated
Lori...I think this is great, except for the 5th stanza, which took me away from the situation (it could be dropped) , and the last three lines would be better in a couplet, which would be easy to organize without losing anything. Take care, John
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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4/30/2024 3:06:22 AM # 1.0.0.1119
Uh huh, done that. Just wonderful. Lori. More, please... Regards, Don