Post by Reilley on Mar 10, 2011 7:42:37 GMT -6
I saw the love of my life walk through my door
And bend to scratch first one, then another kitten.
I saw them scramble between legs as my love knelt on the floor,
Time unfolded exactly as I had previously written.
Then the jacket was slowly taken off
And thrown casually across the back of a chair;
I held my breath, lest I disturb with a gasp or cough,
The scene I had once penned, unfolding there.
I am a poet who suffers under a magical curse
You see, all of my poems are fated to come true -
Each and every person inhabiting my verse
Behaves exactly as I once wrote they would do.
And I had written that this, my beloved one
Would ask me to pour out a cup of strong tea,
We would talk of all the things that we had done
Discuss trivialities until we would both agree
That there was really nothing quite as nice as this,
Nor was there anyone with whom we would rather be,
Touching hands would lead to a sweet soft kiss,
A nibbled earlobe and a lightly tickled knee.
We enacted each thing I had written in verse
Completely, exactly, and without fail
As though for the stage we had rehearsed
Down to the very smallest and last detail.
Describing how we would remove our clothes
I believe I had used the words exquisitely slow
I had spent eight lines just on pantyhose,
They took twelve minutes to drop off the last toe.
You may think I am kidding, but I swear to you it is real
My every poetic fantasy automatically comes true.
My words had already described how we would feel
What we would say and what we both would do.
I found it simple to recall all of the acts
All of the words I scribed in the past,
I had noted that now we would both just relax
And allow our expectations to be surpassed.
Just as I wrote, I admired my sweet love
So dear to me and full of sensual grace,
I leaned on a pillow and looked down from above
At the sleepy smile on my lover's face.
And in the tale I wrote, now was the moment sublime,
But much to my complete surprise
What happened next was not in my rhyme
My sweetheart closed heavy lidded eyes!
"Forgive me, love, I'm very tired," I heard
"Let's sleep now, it is getting very late."
"I do love sex, as I know you well know,
But I've been busy, I know you can relate."
So I left the bed, picked up pen and pad
And wrote another poem from scratch,
I wrote how business had been worse than bad
And wished now that reality would match.
My love was tired, so it was claimed,
Passion foregone for the need just to rest
So now, in my poem I cleverly framed
That fatigue was spoken of in jest.
And so as I wrote of overwhelming need
My lover turned to me and then said,
"My passion for you is a good as greed,
So let's just make love instead."
So instead of a curse I now see it as a gift
To have my scribbled poems all come true
If you could all of your sorrow give lift
Wouldn't you want to do it too?
And bend to scratch first one, then another kitten.
I saw them scramble between legs as my love knelt on the floor,
Time unfolded exactly as I had previously written.
Then the jacket was slowly taken off
And thrown casually across the back of a chair;
I held my breath, lest I disturb with a gasp or cough,
The scene I had once penned, unfolding there.
I am a poet who suffers under a magical curse
You see, all of my poems are fated to come true -
Each and every person inhabiting my verse
Behaves exactly as I once wrote they would do.
And I had written that this, my beloved one
Would ask me to pour out a cup of strong tea,
We would talk of all the things that we had done
Discuss trivialities until we would both agree
That there was really nothing quite as nice as this,
Nor was there anyone with whom we would rather be,
Touching hands would lead to a sweet soft kiss,
A nibbled earlobe and a lightly tickled knee.
We enacted each thing I had written in verse
Completely, exactly, and without fail
As though for the stage we had rehearsed
Down to the very smallest and last detail.
Describing how we would remove our clothes
I believe I had used the words exquisitely slow
I had spent eight lines just on pantyhose,
They took twelve minutes to drop off the last toe.
You may think I am kidding, but I swear to you it is real
My every poetic fantasy automatically comes true.
My words had already described how we would feel
What we would say and what we both would do.
I found it simple to recall all of the acts
All of the words I scribed in the past,
I had noted that now we would both just relax
And allow our expectations to be surpassed.
Just as I wrote, I admired my sweet love
So dear to me and full of sensual grace,
I leaned on a pillow and looked down from above
At the sleepy smile on my lover's face.
And in the tale I wrote, now was the moment sublime,
But much to my complete surprise
What happened next was not in my rhyme
My sweetheart closed heavy lidded eyes!
"Forgive me, love, I'm very tired," I heard
"Let's sleep now, it is getting very late."
"I do love sex, as I know you well know,
But I've been busy, I know you can relate."
So I left the bed, picked up pen and pad
And wrote another poem from scratch,
I wrote how business had been worse than bad
And wished now that reality would match.
My love was tired, so it was claimed,
Passion foregone for the need just to rest
So now, in my poem I cleverly framed
That fatigue was spoken of in jest.
And so as I wrote of overwhelming need
My lover turned to me and then said,
"My passion for you is a good as greed,
So let's just make love instead."
So instead of a curse I now see it as a gift
To have my scribbled poems all come true
If you could all of your sorrow give lift
Wouldn't you want to do it too?
