After Orleans 1970 Poem by Terry Collett

Miriam laid her head
in my lap.

The coach was travelling
through towards Sans Sabation,
the scenery changing
as we past.

I studied the scene
for a while
then looked down
at her lying there,
her pale cheek
and tight red hair.

I wanted to lay a hand
on her back and rub her
to consciousness,
but did not,
not sure what
she might say.

Her cheek was on my thigh,
her red hair spread there.

I wished to kiss that cheek,
place lips softly
on her skin,
but I let her lie asleep,
it would keep.

The coach radio
was pushing a soft
Chopin piece.

Others sat and looked out
at the passing views of France,
others chatted in soft voices,
pointing out
at this and that,
usual chitchat.

We had kissed back in Orleans
where we'd got out
for a coffee for a while.

Warming kiss,
lips to lips
kind of affair.

I wanted to part
the strands of her
red loose hair;
place kiss there
on her ear,
whisper words to her
with warm breath.

She slept on deeply
like one in death.