“Through The Dirty Window Glass”

If he was to peer

Through the window

Of the small apartment

There he would see

The little table by the window

The vase of Roses, Red Roses

Now dead, withered

Dried red petals on the table

The double bed unmade

Rug lay by the bed

Negligee half on bed half on floor

Two chairs either side of table

Newspaper on one chair

Opened and read perhaps

Where once they sat

Drank  black coffee

Had toast and honey

Losing count of how many cups

Held hands and talked for hours

The bed they laid on

And made love for countless hours

Slept in each others arms

Made their plans

Life so special they planned

As he continued to look

The past?

Was it, is it

As he looks through dirty window glass

He sees her, there beside the bed

Negligee she dropped to the floor

Standing there naked

Her firm breasts waiting for him

Her Body longing to be his

He taps on the glass

Is she there?

Is she?






4 thoughts on ““Through The Dirty Window Glass”

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