That Sunday Evening …

That faithful Sunday evening, she came around

Lights were off, she had come to see the seamstress next door

I wondered, if she really came because of her.

[In her right hand was a pack of tomtom …]

 

“Come up” I said, “my room is up stairs”

She smiled and followed me placidly

She stumbled on the fourth to the last step

“#$&@!, bruised ankle” she said

 

My right hand on her waist, her left over my shoulder

She limped, as I helped her climb the last three steps

And with her left breast touching my right chest

I felt every heartbeat, I could even count

 

On the wretched bed, she sat, as I lit the candle

“the ankle seems ok and the tomtom is yours” she said

All she could add after that, was “I really have to go”

I could only blame the impervious darkness dumsor did bring …

 

What else is there to blame?!

Advertisements

6 thoughts on “That Sunday Evening …

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s