Half-Light Enigma in an Old T-Shirt

The thought crossed my mind

like you did,

when you walked across the room

wearing that old T-shirt of mine.

The almost sunlight

made your skin glow,

electric blue/grey.


You were meant for someone else

and these moments are stolen.

Pilfered memories

from some poor soul,

who will never know

the touch of fingertips

and teeth on soft flesh,

and hot sweat on cold mornings,

and two bodies,

stiffening when the waves hit.


Never knowing the collapsing

into sheets, bunched

into seafoam clouds

that cradle our satiated hunger,

for a little while at least.


You were never meant

for company, or friendship,

but maybe to be on the arm

of some powerful businessman,

a captain of industry,

a crime boss, or a diplomat.


Once, I thought you were a spy,

but there was no gun in your purse,

just chewing gum and lots of receipts

from the coffee shop.

You’ve really got to clean that thing out.


But, I digress;

as much and as often as I can.

Perhaps to keep your attention

for a few moments longer.

To get one more chance

to run my fingers

through your soft hair,

feel your skin pressed against me,

the heat of your breath on my face, my neck, my chest…


That half-light vision,

of you in that old, black T-shirt,

Like the mother of the morning

and the daughter of the night.

You were never meant to be mine,

so I stole you.


HG – 2016

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