Still Standing

I haven't written any poetry for a while, and I'm really not sure about the title, but this is really my first attempt at gentle humour.  It isn't about me, not really, more a composite of that 'morning after' feeling when you float upon a sea of ecstasy, fading quietly when you realise the heat of the night has cooled to the 'oh no I didn't' feeling.



How one conducts oneself post-coitally has been fodder for writers, both comedy and more serious.  I think it's also one of those gender divides, or perhaps that is just my age.  Men seem to boast, but women, just look down, and shoot a quiet smile.  Discretion is always the best thing, but sometimes you are bursting with the memory of the experience you have just enjoyed.  There is a brilliant poem, by someone else of course, about everyone who had sex the night before had a light on their head only visible to others who had sex, and there is that sort of companionship.  I find myself cheerful and positive, alive and bright, no doubt a result of all that sensation stimulating in my otherwise sleeping form.  Letting yourself go back to sleep is also tricky.  It is very easy to hit a low, especially if you neither want the relationship to last, or realise he doesn't want to.  The key, I find, is to be honest with yourself.  One night stands are rarely worth it, there is a tawdriness to the moves that somehow depletes the satisfaction.  Just occasionally the adventure that sparkles as a result is worth it though.

I had a boyfriend a couple of years ago I met through internet dating.  We had our first date and I remember thinking to myself 'heck this is fun' about half way through the evening.  He hadn't been quite what I had been expecting, but the more we laughed, the more I was drawn towards him.  He walked to me to my car in the restaurant car park.  He turned to kiss me goodnight and I can honestly say I have never felt anything like it.  It was as if the stars had been put out, such was the extraordinary passion alighted within me, and I'm pleased to say, him.  We went out for quite a time before we both moved to different places.  You see that's the point about passion, it isn't everything.

Still Standing

When you turn

And see him there,

Smile in happy memory,

At your shoulder

Caressed by kisses.

And reach for the teabags,

Toss them in the trolley,

Examine your list.

Look up and see his blue eyes

Starring down into yours,

In soft and certain expectation.

Debate about the olives:

Green, stoned or black?

In joyous haste throw

All three upon the teabags.

Turn the corner to aisle 12,

Catch his smell upon your skin,

The sharp scent a hunter

Leaves upon his prey.

And push thought

You filled the evening,

As unexpected conquest,

Back behind the pictures

Of the bliss

Your every fibre felt,

In glorious technicolour;

Now fading,

As the phone stays oddly silent,

Whilst you unpack the shopping,

Bring the washing from the line,

Fold it for the ironing,

Look up and catch the fool,

Gazing from the mirror,

And smile that rueful smile:

Prince Charming had a night off,

Again.

20/05/2012