Was there lust
well, he would have
can’t speak for her
What about love
well, he spoke of it
can’t say she heard
Was there anything
well, they’re in touch
can’t tell how much
What happened then
well, she saved him
can’t say if for herself
EDC Writing – Believing Sight Unseen
'odd lines, short poems, bits of prose'
Was there lust
well, he would have
can’t speak for her
What about love
well, he spoke of it
can’t say she heard
Was there anything
well, they’re in touch
can’t tell how much
What happened then
well, she saved him
can’t say if for herself
‘Shorts – a take on poetry’ is EDC’s first offering, 158 poems presented, one, two, three a page, and as a poem plus a line, you know the kind, drawn from EDC blog posts made 2014 to end of 2019 – the River Dixon (Potter’s Grove Press) re-blog gives a link to Amazon where you are – in the UK an ebook for less than a pound and a paperback for just over a fiver for a limited time. My best to all out there – ‘Shorts’ wouldn’t exist without you.
Here is a universal link for people outside of the US – Shorts: a take on poetry
Stumbling for words
she smiles…
he said three
I and love and you
he smiles…
she said the same
Tear drops filtered
heart laden one’s retrieved
pure distillates of love
cryogenically preserved.
When did he fall, bruised knee
a day or two ago, heart stitched
a week or more, his emptiness
the day she said he shouldn’t be
where she could see, he would
he said, today she told him sorry
Their beginning redrafted, the writing tightened – Sam and Erin, and Amy – their May to September, their story… two of them from three.
…..
It started on a Sunday, early May in England.
Sam sits, eyes shaded, hands clasped behind his head. Sweat beads on his chest, bared to blend with weathered arms and neck. Beads merge, abs define their line down to his faded combats.
A vibration, his left hand goes to his pocket. He grips his mobile, oddly, between thumb and unoccupied ring-finger. A message, base instinct, he needs to go inside to read. Effortlessly he rises; her eyes half open, her senses tune to the rhythm of his flip-flop walk to and beyond the kitchen door.
Sam opens the message to read a single line:
I’m here, you’re here, what are we waiting for?
He takes in a thumbnail photo, a young woman, coyly posed, stunningly attractive. “Why would a woman who looks like that message me? Why is she on a site like this at all? She could get any man she wants,” he lip syncs as if to a song. He looks at her in disbelief, her natural smile and easy style radiating almost innocence.
Sam fires off a reply:
Sites like this are not my thing, yet somehow you’ve captivated me, by chance, by fate I wouldn’t know. What I do know is I have to say hello, I’m Sam and spell-bound by your smile.
Exhilarated, he feels he’s been indoors for ages, yet the oven clock shows just three minutes.
Back in his garden, she’s where he left her, her eyes closed, her breathing deep. He kneels, and as their shadows merge he strokes her upturned palm. Her heart-line traced, she jolts, grips his fingers, earths them on her exposed thigh. Her wild eyes within a blink, re-adjust to her familiar composure. His fingers lift, his prints fade; her daydream moistness lingers.
Sam sits back on his heels. “Sorry, Amy, a message I had to deal with.” That smile, that face of his, magnetic, pulling at her core, his touch confusing her as always. “That’s okay, Sam, I should be going anyway.”
Without words, they stand, Sam walks Amy to her car. They kiss cheeks, their lips untouched as ever.
She says, “Good to see you.”
He says, “I’ll call you.”
Amy drives away, not looking back, before her eyes betray her.
Sam looks up the road, till all sight and sound of her has gone, one hand holds air, the other in his pocket; he shakes his head. So many things unsaid.
The evening sun goes down; there’s a slight chill, he slips a polo shirt on. Woman–bought, a well-worn shade of pink, as is his sun-touched skin beneath. He sits, restless, in the chair that held her. His fingers caress its wooden arms; he feels a prick… a splinter. Standing, he squeezes the shard free. A single drop of blood falls, smears, as his still muted phone gyrates across the glass-topped table. A second line from her:
Oh my goodness, do you mean that? I’m Erin by the way.
Their days, their lines, begin.
He’d love her
like she’d never been
he said he won’t, he would
she couldn’t take the risk
thinks she’s told him everything
she’d only just begun
Between us…
span of years no tears
No us…
feelings flow beneath
Useless…
looking back cold feet
Ah, there you are… he smiled.
Six word line/story in response to ‘Saturday Six Word Story Prompt (6WSP) #4 – Unconditional love’ for week 21 – 27 September 2019.
Love you… don’t know do you?