Reasons to Live
i. flight home, asleep, dreaming
he untied his oily work boots, pulled hard as they came
off and tumbled down the outdoor steps
it was 2am, would she be waiting for him ?
gently he inserted a shiny new key into the keyway
to the deadbolt,
before he rotated the clavis, what smelled so bad ?
sheesh, his socks stank, but more chance of waking
someone up with his feet so he left his socks on
he should have showered before he left,
but was afraid he'd miss his flight home
Mattias's navel-gazing navigated from his olfaction to hoping
his two little girls were sound asleep, to her, his love:
now inside Mattias tip-toes down the hall, peaks
in the girls bedroom. sound asleep. he can't wait for
hugs and kisses in the morning but he quickly turns and
slides, shuffles; almost slips on a newly polished
hardwood floor. he'd get his wife real good for her
looks askance, drop door is cracked open pitch black,
almost trips on the sweep, then a crease of gloaming
illumines through a slice in the faux wood blinds, a laser
beyond the drape cuts through the opening and onto their
king sized bed
stunned, through the thin, loose weight of white sheets
the cleft of her buttocks
he wanted in right now
not tomorrow, which is today, but
ii. five minutes to landing
Mattias woke from his dream. no recall of
the dream, but the blue balls and pained loins
gave him a slight clue
It is more like prose than poetry. Poetry leaves more to the imagination. You might consider it the beginning of a story instead of a poem.
You're on top form, God I'm gonna miss ya Mr T. And so is Stanley, right Stanley? RIGHT. ;-)
sounds like hes excited to see his wife after being away
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Is it good take a break from writing occasionally?