Their conversation falls to the floor
with lead quotation marks.
On pin-point heels she cut a swath
through the smoke-filled club.
Signature lips of crushed black cherries
dip into his laugh lines.
She wears a second skin of sonnets,
long beads of exotic alphabets
trickling down her neck.
Her thighs are clover petals,
nectar waiting to be sipped.
Her hair leaves a trail of seaweed
and sand-filled shells across his bed.
She casts no reflection,
a falling wave.
All he hears is her voice.
* * * * *
Gerry Stewart is a poet, creative writing tutor and editor currently living in Finland with her young family. Her collection Post-Holiday Blues was published by Flambard Press, UK. She blogs about writing at http://thistlewren.blogspot.fi/.