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Love lingers long into the night

What can she have been thinking?

Why had she bid him go so early

In the evening? Why the excuses?

Why the pretence? Did she seek to

hurt him and in turn hurt herself?

Whatever the reason it had certainly

Done the trick, for hurt it did, more

Perhaps than she ever imagined,

How he felt, she could only guess.


In the bedroom she stood before a

Full-length mirror and in a state of

Some resignation began the subtle

Art of disrobing, imagining her lover

Still present, still sat in the French

Salon chair she kept by her dressing

Table. She sought to tease and to

Please the image of the man she

Loved, now gone, but still present in

Her mind’s eye, and the slower the

Better she thought, in light of the

Very little she had on.


What a fool she had been, what a night

To have wasted. A lover nearby, a lover

Excited and thrilled by her every move,

Wanting, but not yet able to take. Desire

And consent, hunger and haste, a recipe

To be savoured, what she had in mind

Was only now coming to light, albeit a

Little too late,


Oh, if only her were here ...

Here in the flesh, here in body and

Mind, for there was so much to see,

So much to love, less so very much

The mother of more. Silk of the finest

Transparency materialized from an

Ornate drawer, and standing naked

For a moment, she slipped into a

Garment so sheer that when pressed

Against flesh modesty immediately

Surrendered to the will of the heart

And the hand.


For all its artful ways in matters of

Seduction, chiffon finally and silently

Fell to earth, of little use now, save

That of self-adoration, and with the

Approaching dawn the hall clock

Downstairs confirmed the hour, the

Night had slipped away and her

Cobweb of a nightdress its ability to

Keep a lady from her rest. Love had

Lingered long into the night, and all

That now remained was a wish for

Better things tomorrow, certain that

An injured heart be consummately

Repairable in light of the night to

Come and chiffon the expeditor of

All his dreams.


© Joseph G Dawson

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