Les amours imaginaires, by Simona

in

bag and bra and belt have been abandonedon the floor, the scattered remnants of a frenzied nightthe silky dress still clingingto the edge of the bed, almosttouching her she sleeps nowat lastand her soft breaths make the room hold its ownwhile I wake and look upon hereyes closed, mouth blow-a-kiss openand thinkI may very well say this here and now I love her  and I love how she turns her back to mestill deep in slumberwhile I rise from my own bedand wash and dress and eatand go outside to celebrate the tendernesswithin me the dance of the imagined lovers is onlyfor one