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User Rating:
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10.0
/10
(6 votes)
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He gives me that look
and I know what's coming.
I set down my book and we get to it.
For this long together we are better
than most. But lying there with him,
I lie, there, with him.
As a sunrise of lamplight crests
the timberline of his balding skull,
I experiment with words in exotic positions
rolling them, naked on my paper brain
until there is nothing more to say,
no ink left in the pen,
and we reach across each other
only to turn out the light.
Lori Boulard
| Submitted Date |
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Wednesday, October 04, 2006 |
| Submitted Date |
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Sunday, October 10, 2010 |
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Comments about this poem (A Lover of Sorts
by
Lori Boulard
) |
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Don Mcwilliams (2/22/2008 11:22:00 AM)
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Uh huh, done that. Just wonderful. Lori. More, please...
Regards,
Don
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David Dennis (11/11/2006 10:55:00 PM)
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Holy hell. This is staggering. Gems one after the other.
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Brian Dorn (10/17/2006 3:24:00 PM)
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A masterful write, Lori... hope your brain never runs out of paper.
Brian
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Raymond Wright (10/17/2006 10:29:00 AM)
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Another beautifully written poem. Just wonderful!
~Ray
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Howard Moore (10/4/2006 10:47:00 AM)
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I gave it a 10, I thought it was going in a diffrent direction, , , , , Than what I anticipated
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John Kay (10/4/2006 9:06:00 AM)
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Lori...I think this is great, except for the 5th stanza, which took me away from the situation (it could be dropped) , and the last three lines would be better in a couplet, which would be easy to organize without losing anything. Take care, John
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Read all
6
comments >>
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