NaPoWriMo # 8

Looking back on my aubade, I see it doesn’t qualify as a poem of love and leaving and so I rescind its aubadian classification and put this in its place, knowing full well this too is not exactly what was meant, but I evoke my poetic license to interpolate, extrapolate, obfuscate, insinuate, imitate, expostulate and, in short, write any darn way I please!

PS  Love the aubade- I shall linger and revisit …

To Tryst And Trust—But Not Too Much



Dawn flashed green on the windowpane

the larks began to fly

their spiral notes came floating down

like ribbons from the sky.


She’s trying to wake us up my love,

I murmur in his ear,

Good Gaia’s raising Her alarm

you have to disappear.


Who knows what ill may follow yet

if exposed be we!

Oh hush, my dearest, darling girl

this spot behind your knee


that I forgot to kiss last night,

tastes like the morning dew…

How can this place so far from here

(his fingers dip into


her sweetest spot, now moistening

beneath his gentle touch)

still smell of roses, musk and brine?

you rouse me much too much..


FLEE, FLEE! Beloved troubadour

His foot steps on the stair!

That infuriating snuffle?

I’d know it anywhere.


He throws a final kiss to me

while scrambling cross the sill

but waits to watch me swallow dry

my morning-after pill.

©2015 Christine Irving
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