[Image from Pinterest]
[Inspired by Agnes Obel’s “Fuel to Fire”:]
A visage beautiful, but
making him afraid;
afraid they were becoming
too close, too reliant on each other.
He believed it mutual.
Why else would she stare at him
from every reflective surface?
Used to take his coffee black
until he met her; milk
then became necessary so as not to see
her eyes studying him from a cup.
Even a shower, once solitary,
brought back the memory of her lips
descending his neck, flick of her hair
shimmering in the glassy screen;
her perfect laugh dripping down the drain.
He hoped he was yet safe;
safe from the fate of friends now mired
in the muck of family life, commitments
he had no intention of making.
Perhaps not ever. But
the office was no reprieve of late,
working documents blurred to the shape
of her unique profile: recollection
of her face while she slept
on the pillow next to his.
As his fingers glided over the keyboard,
he tried not to think of the feel
of her skin,
tried not to recall the shape
of her body (how it fitted
perfectly against his),
tried not to accept that
without her he was lost;
to this woman he was doomed.
[Copyright © N R Nolan 2016]