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The magnetic pull of a woman

I walked into an office and there at the

Far end of the room stood a woman, nice

Legs, nice everything, her head buried deep

In a filing cabinet. I waited and presently

She turned and our eyes met in a swirling

Burst of uncertainty and confusion, a

Lingering puzzlement that went on longer

Than might be considered respectable in

Refined society. Finally, we spoke, and I

Left the office a changed man. For the first

Time in a long time, I had felt the powerful

Magnetic pull of a woman.


The sensation above is most certainly one

Of delicious anticipation, laced with a

Magical air of knowing‘The game is on’.

Something only hearts can know and only

Hearts can recognise, an atmosphere of

Instant suitability, short or long lived it

Matters not, save that the signal received

Is one that says ‘Yes, I might just let you

Get away with more than any other man’.


Then of course this might have been one of

Those occasions when the eyes devour and

The signal becomes one of great danger, an

Unquenchable appitite for love, souls too

Long starved of attention spot the need

In each when - standby for fireworks any

Minute now!


Was this like that? Oh, yes, when lust

Has wings nothing can stand in the way.

But there is another side to this, a side

That those so aflicted may prefer not to

Speak of such is the pain of unrequited

Love. Misfortune may stand in the way

Of such a liaison and it may be that what

The eyes beg may never come to pass. Too

Many people to hurt, too much baggage,

Too high a price all round.


The torture of longing and wanting has

Come to stay with absolutely no intention

Of ever leaving, and much the worst part

Of all is never being able to declare a love

That must for the sake of others remain

Silent for all time.


What a dismal trap. Snared in the worst

Possible way for the best possible reasons.

But lovers nonetheless and both tempted

And tormented by a desperate need to be

Together. The long cold nights ahead with

No respite or relief from the anguish that

Impossible love brings both to the heart

And to the bed chamber. No tender moments,

No joy in just being together, no future ...


The pull of a woman, such force from such

Beauty, and how perfect the desolation.

The pain and the price of loving a woman

One can never have never goes away, never

Stops, lasts for years, even for a lifetime.

Thus, somewhere in the dead of night, perhaps

On a mobile phone buried beneath a pillow,

There is a photograph that in times of greatest

Despair provides a little solace and whatever

Comfort dreaming may bring.

© Joseph G Dawson
29/03/2019 and earlier


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