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Jerrybaldy
03-22-2011, 09:08 PM
As I crossed your threshold
the traffic died dead stop.
In the silence you made me tea
your clock subdued a mild threat
to cuckoo.
I thought you may well be gay,
you brought me digestives
on a doylie with my tea,
your radio had a dial
and your wallpaper had a velvet brush.
Your friend Brian minced in the room
and I pictured you taking him
from behind,
but the traffic noise was gone
and a ballerina danced on glass
in a music box.
I had to leave soon,
there were targets to reach
money to be made
bastards to be sated,
but I wanted to stay
play a gramaphone
stroke the sulky cat
drink tea
dust the net curtains
and keep the current day
at bay.

GEETASHREE
03-22-2011, 09:57 PM
Something very attractive about this poem like flowing thoughts!