Black Stockings
60
Lace and roses
in the beginning there are stockings
seamed or unseamed, doing the talking
letting the thigh highs laced with bows
speak to you my lover's throes.
would I not mourn and love the best
the nights of lingerie among the rest
along the line, the soft things tossed
and in the end, the softness lost.
but I can still remember when
you loved me back before the then
I can slide my fingers up and down
black silk stockings on the ground.
a rose is born, it lives and dies
and so like love which seems to thrive
the most when at it's brilliant peak
then petals fail and silence speaks.
I miss the softness of your touch
and in the voice I loved so much,
my black stockings I wore most
now mere silk whispers of a ghost.
I even miss the thorny cuts
the stings, the blood, the awesome lust
for what love is, can never be
without the passion of you and me.
28May09
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Comments
thanks, C. I'm not sure why I tied the rose to the hosiery - I think because I had just cut one from my rose bushes.
actually they don't really mix well, irl :hmm:
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Guru-C says:
5 months ago
I love "the softness lost", I love your poetry!