Half Stewed Roses

She stirs her coffee
always
anti clockwise:

Driven by the need
never to meddle with time.

This woman –
dishing out a pan
of half stewed roses
hitching up her future thoughts
catching the sun, through
a slanted, slated roof.

She convinces herself
that this is such a beautiful day
then kisses him pleasingly,
as if he had died last night.

Hidden behind her mirror
faithful to those images
never yet seen, through the light,
of honest eyes

She holds out her hands
retaining
the balance –
on this, her submersed

womanly, imagination…

Poppy 2016 ~xx~

 

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