The White Room

Waking in the white room,
breeze blowing ‘cross my skin,
last night these walls of
alabaster,
stained with lovers sin.

Waking in the white room,
sheets wrapped like cotton shroud,
recalling how your breathless
voice,
rejoiced my name allowed.

Waking in the white room,
cool silence ringing out,
picturing our forms
entwined,
clothes scattered all about.

Waking in the white room,
with you no longer there,
but pillow holds the proof
of you,
a single jet black hair.

Waking in the white room,
no place I’d rather be,
these glowing walls of pearly
white,
a memory’s home for me.

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7 Responses to The White Room

  1. Cubby says:

    So expertly you paint a picture in my mind…if cats could blush…

    • Simon says:

      That’s all I’ve wanted. Not to make cats blush(!) but to put into someone else’s mind the images I see and try and portray with my words. So thank you.

  2. fibee5 says:

    great poem! 🙂 what else can i say

  3. 1jaded1 says:

    Another beautiful work of art.

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