Smile

She rolls over in bed at the soft sound …
his voice; it’s not close – perhaps not even
really there. A conversational tone
with a hint of laughter. Her lips curving
to a smile in her half-awake sleep state.

A smile of memory, a smile of her
remembered desire. As her mind wakes
to it, the smile fades a little – yet
it doesn’t disappear. He hasn’t gone;
just vanished from her immediate life.

He hovers around the edges, a piece
of past she hasn’t let go of – hasn’t
wanted to let go of…not yet – maybe
never. She still holds on – to his smile.

~
Siobhan
1/12/13

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A Touch of Jealousy

A touch of jealousy pricks her center;
that shade of seaweed without the violet
shimmer of ocean oils
lingering along the coast.

Muscle quivers beneath
the soft flesh of her breasts – a heart,
that unromantic, overworked tissue,
blood and sinew beating cell against cell.

She is unable to declare passion,
held back by fear;
her reservations badger –
smother desire.

By degrees, the colors shift,
translucent sea-foam replaces spinach and olive
in the green garden of envy.
His eyes become a memory;
his smile – a dream.

~

Siobhan
1/30/11


More Naked – More Alive

Water pressure has eased from years ago.
Spray still fine, less needles – more massaging,
caresses her body, bared for no one
except herself.  She feels vulnerable,
exposed while hidden behind the curtain;
she smiles, entertained that she feels more
naked standing beneath the hot shower
than when she baths in the big pink bathtub.

Gone is the cold contrast of hard tile,
the subtly of beige stone replaced now
with smooth, bright, clean white walls – they surround her,
allowing imagination to paint
the sensations, her skin feels more alive,
anticipates her lover’s touch – someday…

~

Siobhan
1/15/11


Mornings Like This

Mornings like this
find her curled within the warmth of an embrace.
Heavy with sleep, full of dreams
not yet abandoned,
her lips curve into the secret smile of lovers,
a sigh

that release of imagination
with day’s first blink and breath

escapes
and lashes flutter against cheeks
creased with pillow-wrinkles.

Tangled in sheets and the orange striped shirt, she twists;
the weight across her hips
slips,
the faint sound of rice shifting within
the heating pad’s worn fabric
whispers “wake up”
while she reaches away from reality
back toward sleep
and the comfort of her lover’s arms.

Mornings like this
she longs to stay in bed.

~
Siobhan
1/7/11



Captured in Black and White

Imagination captured with his lens,
washes out flaws, hides the imperfection
she sees in each strand of hair, arch of brow.

Black and white beautiful scares and enthralls;
she watches herself look at you watch her.

A show of confidence hidden behind
the shadows of color and shades of grey
pierce the subconscious until you can see
everything she does; hinting at a smile,
lowering her gaze before looking straight

into your eyes, stating the obvious –
I am more than you see in Black and White.

~
Siobhan
9/12/10

Inspired by “B & W Pose” by David Cain


Hue and Cry

Sunshine blue, peppered with white, reminds her
of the sapphire in his eyes when he smiled;
an act not performed often enough when
in those years, she cried. She misses that hue
and the curve of full lips touching her own.
 
Relaxed on winter-damp grass just greening,
eyes closed, she rides imagination’s wind
back over the softly rolling landscape
to when this park first appeared and they walked
hand-in-hand, although at times far apart.

Then geese and gulls decorated the sky,
almost the same hue, their flight reflected
as shadow; their cry a mixture of mirth
with echoes of longing – and desire.
 
 
 
Siobhan
3-3-10


Black against the Grey
 
Fresh fallen snow scraped back reveals a pale
landing strip of concrete, invites a plague
of grackles to descend. I watch them land –
a puddle of oil-slick feathers rain
down, scatter across the shovel-bared ground.

They do not bring spring with their cries and fight
for food in the gravel-crusted snow pile;
remind instead of the days left before
farmers return to the field,  break open
soil to plow under winter’s bleakness.
 
Spellbound, I stop, smile at their name calling,
child’s play and teasing rings in their cry.
Then just as suddenly as they appeared,
they’re gone – a cloud of black against the grey.
 
 

Siobhan
2/16/2010