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I dreamt we walked across an ashen beach,
The brittle moonlight gleamed through ragged mist,
You slipped ahead, though not beyond my reach.
Glanced back and touched my cheek. We never kissed.
Then waking in a warm, yet vacant bed,
As children's laughter echoes out-of-doors,
My head echoes with words we left unsaid:
Approaching footsteps - they cannot be yours.
An aftermath of silent sound is heard,
I listen to your voice - it seems unclear,
Though through the mist I see you, undeterred
Your hand slips into mine, I do not fear.
This sentiment of lust with such fervour,
Reiterating lust, I’ve felt before.
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Writer Profile
Lou Chaps
I am usually seen writing comical, eccentric poems about the most bizarre of forms. From Fruit to School Teachers, from Tragedy to plain truth. Enjoy my poetry, laugh at my eccentricity.
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