Poetry The Table

The Table

At the table
Sideways to mine
The lovers’ passion
Spreads across the room
And I cannot resist
Their unawares invitation
To watch
The seduction.

Their eyes
Smile and laugh.
Their lips
Speak quiet intimacies
Kiss without touching.

My meal interrupts
The watching.
Familiar aromas, flavors,
Like the passion
Spread over me,
Spark the part of me
Where she still lives.
I close my eyes
And the feeling of her
Moves through me.

I open my eyes.
Plates and bowls
Empty now
Sit at the side
Of the table

Their laughter
Has gone silent
Their eyes
Look between them
To the table.
I follow their gaze
To see their hands . . .

My breath catches

Their hands . . .
Their hands embrace
Fingers entwine
Come apart
His hands
Take hers,
Turn hers
Her fingers respond
Caress his palms
Stroke his fingers
Their hands . . . join

Wanting to moan
I look away
For my hands
Feel hers

My fingers softly
Caress her palms
The back of her hands
She slides her fingers
Down my fingers
Her fingertips caress mine

I close my eyes
Feel remembered desire
Of this room’s ghosts
Speaking quiet intimacies
Kissing without touching
Making love
With their hands

My eyes open
The table is empty
But for
The crumpled linen
Of their napkins
A ravaged ramekin
Holding remnants
Of custard and crumbs

And a single smeared spoon

Its twin sits
Untouched

 

[dave.crowther]

Thanks for posting!
I think I’ve been in that seat.

your perspective in this poem on two lovers is interesting. I appreciate that it’s told from an onlookers perspective who has lost a love.

 

[Julie]

That is quite beautiful. Thank you for posting it.

 

[Hannah Faoileán]

I liked this a lot. Very evocative of yearning and loss.

 

[gbhunt]

The Table

At the table
Sideways to mine
The lovers’ passion
Spreads across the room
And I cannot resist
Their unawares invitation
To watch
The seduction.

Their eyes
Smile and laugh.
Their lips
Speak quiet intimacies
Kiss without touching.

My meal interrupts
The watching.
Familiar aromas, flavors,
Like the passion
Spread over me,
Spark the part of me
Where she still lives.
I close my eyes
And the feeling of her
Moves through me.

I open my eyes.
Plates and bowls
Empty now
Sit at the side
Of the table

Their laughter
Has gone silent
Their eyes
Look between them
To the table.
I follow their gaze
To see their hands . . .

My breath catches

Their hands . . .
Their hands embrace
Fingers entwine
Come apart
His hands
Take hers,
Turn hers
Her fingers respond
Caress his palms
Stroke his fingers
Their hands . . . join

Wanting to moan
I look away
For my hands
Feel hers

My fingers softly
Caress her palms
The back of her hands
She slides her fingers
Down my fingers
Her fingertips caress mine

I close my eyes
Feel remembered desire
Of this room’s ghosts
Speaking quiet intimacies
Kissing without touching
Making love
With their hands

My eyes open
The table is empty
But for
The crumpled linen
Of their napkins
A ravaged ramekin
Holding remnants
Of custard and crumbs

And a single smeared spoon

Its twin sits
Untouched

Beautiful imagery, and wording. It transports you right there