Curtains Poem by Oliver Roberts

Dawn flickers with your glorious wet scent
and I burn beneath it like electric glass.
During the dark and rainy hours,
where outside, heavily coated people roamed the streets,
you were here with me,
whispering your pleasures,
tormenting my questions
and cutting our skins up into tiny treasures.

You threw shadows along the walls,
I moved and moved and stood and chased the sunlight.
Your open mouth closed around mine like a trap
and suddenly, in the eyes of our lingering kiss, a sound,
a sound like a room in the afternoon when all the curtains have been closed,
waiting to be filled by what is just about to happen.