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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