|
![]() |
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
Vote for this poem
|
|
| |