[Every Monday (until I run out of them), I’m posting a poem of mine that has fallen out from the submission process for some reason. In most cases, it will be one where I’ve received no response to my submission for at well over a year or more. Maybe the magazine I submitted them to has folded, the submission was lost in the post, or whatever. So, these poems can be seen as lost, orphans, of uncertain status, or something like that.]
drips by, like rain off a leaf.
We stand and laugh,
sit and smile, lie and kiss.
I feel the warm easy pressure
of your skin on my fingertips.
This is no time to worry
or to be concerned about how
the world is the way that it is.
No day to call for the downfall
of the enemies of peace and promise.
We have our own world
and we keep it safe
underneath these sheets.
To do anything otherwise would be
to step out on the cold floor.
We do not want to go naked
out into that darkness.
These sheets are our home
and we turn our backs
on the world, to face each other,
to draw close together.
So all we touch is each other.
All we think of is each other.
Our world becomes simple,
decisions can be made,
actions can be taken.
Shall I touch you there?
Shall I kiss you here?
Outside this bed, the room grows dark
and the rain sheets against the window
showering off the solid glass.
The clouds; ominous, thick and heavy
thundering their storm cannons
across our once clear blue skies.
Outside, the storm begins again.