Friday, June 19, 2009

Scotch. Neat And Succored.

He dreaded to hear her sigh,
was it one of deepest content
or that of an unfulfilled desire?

And with those confounding thoughts
he swirled his drink, again and again
going around in circles, chasing tails.

He wondered if the sigh signified
coming to a truce with the fates
a stalemate so to speak with destiny.

It was hard to tell, he cursed for the hundredth time
and poured himself another if only to ease
the growing unrest, if not to quell the rising doubt.

She sighed with a smile in the quietest of moments
her eyes belying nothing of the turmoil
she must know she unleashed.

And yet sigh she does when she thinks no one is looking
or perhaps when sure someone is,
the mysteries hard to unravel.

And with every long drawn in breath,
he strengthened his resolve.
And with every hastily expelled sigh,
he once again was left to refill.

1 comment:

Ricercar said...

i loved this poem. reminded me a bit about someone who's sighs almost everyone around complains about (sister, coworkers, boyfriend) ... :D