Look Busy

"Someone is coming; look busy",

she whispered

palm affectionately cupping my left ear,

arm wound around my waist

tracing my hip bone.

If I knew no better, I might have thought

that she loved me.

But seduction is her weapon of choice - 

intimacy the rug she pulls away

when I've found my footing

in a world of things and events and

places, with people to see and

adventures to be had and

so so much

"to live for"...

I can't taste myself in her sweet whispers,

nor unravel my body from hers.

I know not who's hand writes my

poems, and who's eyes look up

at those calling me a "poet".

And I am oblivious to who's smile,

laced with hunger and denial,

humours these little names of mine

that I can scribble on a wall in coloured crayon

and smudge each stroke with my clumsy left hand.

~ written January/February 2025