I blushed, despite imagining her often
unclothed — long caramel legs
arabesque honed, perhaps a soft tuft
to cover their tryst. I’d dreamt
creamy breasts with rose petal tips
that would stiffen and rise
in the moonlight.
The first time I saw her naked,
I stood with her mother —
the woman who bore her,
and the boy who adored her,
alone with death in the room.
Ryan Stone
Brilliant.
LikeLiked by 2 people
Very kind. Thank you 🙂
LikeLiked by 1 person
My pleasure.
LikeLiked by 2 people
Heartbreaking. Loss and missed opportunity in equal measure, and I’m not sure which is worse.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Great feedback, thank you 🙂
LikeLike
Stunning Ryan. Thank you. ~ Mia
LikeLiked by 1 person
Too kind, Mia. Thank you 🙂
LikeLiked by 1 person
Ryan, you’re welcome.
LikeLiked by 1 person
God. I wasn’t expecting that last line. Utterly startling and brilliant.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thank you, Tony 🙂
LikeLiked by 1 person
such a tragic ending – well done
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thanks, Beth 🙂
LikeLike
Wow…I was not expecting that. Well done!
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thank you 🙂
LikeLike
My pleasure Ryan 🙂
LikeLike
Such emotional conflict in this piece. I rose with each line and fell in the end. That’s the power of great poetry!
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thank you for such wonderful comments 🙂
LikeLiked by 1 person
All deserved and you are most welcome!
LikeLiked by 1 person