Coffee and croissants

 

With Butter and Jam
 
She wakes, body stretched out to the edges
of a twin bed, covers rumpled from sleep.
Sunshine filters through the unfamiliar
curtains; sounds drift in the open window. 
Disoriented, she closes her eyes,
takes a deep breath, and remembers… Paris.
 
She knows that if she looks out the window
now she will see the skyline of her dreams,
the Eiffel Tower on the horizon;
the shelter of the Montparnasse’s shadow.
Up the street, a café for coffee, fresh
croissant with butter and jam, is waiting.
 
She slips from bed, slides a sundress over
nakedness – dreams become reality.
 
 
Siobhan
07/08/09

 

It only took 26 years

Paris – at Last
 
She steps on to the plane, a window seat
for the first leg of her journey, a flight
to dreams she has held for so very long.
Reality melts into consciousness,
no longer fantasizing, she takes off.
 
Paris, put on hold – for love, for labor,
for years as her life shifted, adjusted
to the whims and desires of others.
 
She pushed aside study for a marriage;
she delayed the rendez-vous for a birth;
she tossed away whimsy for another.
 
The stale of airport coffee and popcorn
disappears, replaced by café au lait
and croissants as she lands at last – Paris.
 
Siobhan
07/08/09

 

Paris at last

Perhaps in Paris

She will find the elusive
dreams;
those that perch of the edge
of awareness,
tease her
with possibilities … opportunities
lost only to be found
again
in sleep.

Perhaps in Paris –
when at last she arrives,
they will be waiting
in the sunrise
over a sidewalk café,
on a park bench beneath the trees
in a small park square – the one with all the pigeons
and the old men who mumble
and grumble
about young love,
all with a twinkle in their eyes
memory curving their lips to a smile.

Perhaps
her dreams will drift in
through an open window
with the sound of lovers
forgetting the world around them.

Perhaps in Paris…

Siobhan
06/29/09

 

back from Paris

On the Shore

Stretched out
languid on the shore
of the Seine
his lean body shimmers
in sunshine
oblivious to boaters – world gawkers
staring from the top
of the Eiffel Tower
and the garish orange seats
of Parisian vessel.

Siobhan
06/27/09

 

Baby it’s hot out there…

Heat Advisory
 
A stranger whispers appreciation
in her direction, a covert glance with
a secret smile steams the window between.
Despite the high temperature, she shivers
as delight trickles down her spine, racing
the bead of sweat between her breasts to soak
the lace caressing the curve of her hips
beneath a flimsy summer dress. A breeze
picks up the fabric, swirls it around her
tanned thighs before allowing it to fall
a kiss above her knees. Her smile, once
rare, graces the fullness of her lips and
laughter lights her eyes. She’s thrown off winter
embracing Spring and the heat of summer.
 
© Siobhan 
June 19, 2009

 

in the garden

Arms Wide

She weeds her wild and wanton garden,
tossing aside the roses and tulips
in favor of sage and thyme, rosemary
grown over and garlic chives wrestling
for space between twisted willow and pond.
Savory spices to fill her nighttime
dreams with the flavor of passion and day-
time with the promises of desire.

In the morning dew, she tiptoes her way
among the leaves of tangled volunteers,
wild onion and stalks of corn sprouting
from seed dropped by the jay and red robins.
At the center of her garden, she stands
arms wide – welcoming the rebirth of life.

© Siobhan
June 16, 2009

 

in a layer of dust

Re-Shape the Surface

Windows open to clear the air gone stale
from months of breathing in and breathing out,
not taking time to smell more than morning
coffee and perhaps a piece of rye toast.

Roses, a brambled mass of thorn and bloom,
tug at her sleeve and pant cuff, scratch bare flesh
as the mower shaves strips from the tall grass;
re-shapes the surface of her outside world.

She has not picked up a paint brush beyond
roller and two-inch acrylic for walls.
Heart strings pulled and pushed down a zig-zag path,
emotions spills on paper – not canvas.

She writes her name in a layer of dust
then wipes it clean – rewriting her future.

©Siobhan
June 14, 2009

 

Dreaming new dreams

Paris Reserved

She has reservations about flying
without him – or anyone else she knows;
to wander streets of dreams from long ago
when she didn’t know the pleasure of him;
sit at café tables, sip coffee, drink
wine with cheese, ripe fruit, and a fresh baguette
to satisfy her appetite for food –
who will satisfy other appetites?

The city of lights, meant to be shared
intimately, will unfold before her
and she will carry her tales home, pictures
in her mind, words on paper, those whispers
of her past life, infused now with new dreams
and endless possibilities of life….

©Siobhan
June 13, 2009

 

Caught in the fog…

Waiting for One More
 
A veil of mist hangs across eyelashes
and cheeks; caresses her top lip as a
lover’s tongue might – an enticement to keep
her eyes closed and savor the sensations
rippling through. This fog rises up from
her midnight dreams and the soft edge of sleep,
where she lingers, waiting for one more kiss,
one more touch before allowing the heat
of day to burn away the memory,
leaving her exposed – and wanting…needing.
 
Shifting into routine, away from him,
she walks the dog, sips coffee, and gazes
across the daylight hours into night
where she will visit him again in dream.

 
© Siobhan
June 12, 2009

 

Trace the curves

Passion and Scars
 
Under the shadow of branches
she rests, amazed, staring up at the sky
– midnight blue now where it had been full
of indifferent dark clouds.
 
When I wish upon a star…
becomes the cliché comment gracing her lips
as he releases them into a smile.
The graveled voice of Waits echoes
behind them in the darkness,
interspersed with melodies from Kitt,
Piaf and Simone. Music for desire
entwined with new sensations
– longing deep within her, stirred
with the tip of his finger tracing
the curve of belly and breast.
 
Her palm feels the heat of passion
and scars beneath the rise and fall
of his chest, each breath let go
with a sigh and heart beat.
They rest in one another’s arms – whispering
of life –
half-finished
and scattered in front of them.

 
© Siobhan
June 10, 2009