Wednesday, 31 August 2016

poetry 2016 / 096

Not You

I expect you've forgotten
how I used to cup your cheek,
roseate veins pulsing against my palm
and tell you how much I loved you
when the sweet dark scent of the night
enveloped every pore
and kept us smiling through the day;
how I embraced your interests
but only where you wanted them shared –
music and dancing, yes, but
you hated the competition of art
and so I gave up my studio, my work;
left you the sole creator
of magnificence in oils
(all those self portraits wore me down)
and even when you had affairs
stayed faithful through weekends
away with your lovers, pretending
not to see the looks, the furtive touches
the pity of our friends who knew.
Perhaps another life
will allow circles to touch once more
but this time I can turn away
and relish the touch of love again
from someone who sees the beauty of truth.

© Rachel Green 2016

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