Brisk nocturnal air widened across a flushed face. The air outside was vigorous with negative ions. Breathing deeply he stretched and returned to his desk. A remote clicking sound caught his ears. Returning to the window he glimpsed a silhouette emerging from an adjacent alley. Below him the gutters ran impatiently from a fierce deluge.
No measure of words
Or collection of phrases
Could express his thoughts
A brisk go of heels played the pavement like a drummer searching for the heart of a rhythm. Jay-walking the street she paused under a streetlamp below his window. Unexpectedly a burst of wind swept over the lissome form and plunged her sheer chemise. The glow of neon, the susurrus of neighbors, the odor of lingering street petroleum, and a distant barking dog, remained equivocal as the sonsie woman shifted about in resolute manner and lit a cigarette. When she glanced up, and motioned to him, he felt his breath curtailed.
Drawn by lusting thoughts
He considered the branching
Of many options
Like dye seeping into motionless water, the vision slowly absorbed him. Transfixed; he gaped down as a wash of rain-reflected lights mirrored her yielding features. Within him a multiplicity of desires were burgeoning as lambent tongues of fire ignited upon a lifetime of moral precepts. The curves of this woman’s body were being embroidered into his senses as a soft pastel chromaticity in moistened afterglow.
Feeling flash-frozen,
Withdrawn briefly from life’s flow,
Breathing shallowly,
Seemingly immured in a place where the fantasies of Eros warred against moral prudery; he wavered in a confluence of black and white swirling madly in the grays of compromise. As his mind raced crashing thunder startled him awake. He was sitting at his desk. Near him a candle was gasping for life. The phone rang. It was his wife. She was concerned. She’d just awakened from a dream about him. Sheer curtains began billowing at the window. Outside a laden northern squall was approaching.
No measure of words
Or collection of phrases
Could quell his surprise
richard lloyd cederberg
10/2012
richardlloydcederberg.com
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Regis
Sometimes I just need to let my response to your poetry come out in a poetic cloudburst, I guess, Richard... your poem has purpose and pith, but (if I could lapse into a lisp for a moment) it is definitely not pithy! [How's that for an understated complement].
Love and light
through your darkest night,
Roger
An illustrious jeweled collection of phrases and the "ring"
couldn't quell his surprise. Enjoyable read.
Lady Mary Ann
It's so interesting to be immersed in a male perspective here in this stunning piece of art with an unexpected ending.
Blessings,
Christine
Strange, because before I read this I had just finished a poem I titled, “ Out the Window.” Fortunately, its subject matter is much different, so I will posted on Saturday.
Ron
“She was perfervid.” Adjective?
As a Scot, the descriptive terms “sonsie” and lithesome do not normally fit together.
As Robert Burns, aptly wrote “. Fair fa' your honest, sonsie face, Great chieftain o' the puddin-race! ...
I like the word “susurrus”, susurration. It can imply many things were neighbours are concerned.
Interesting read, I enjoyed it.
Mor.
Joy L. Hale