Terry Collett

Gold Star - 23,103 Points (13/12/1947 / LONDON)

As She Lay Sleeping. - Poem by Terry Collett

It's the fifth hotel room
in as many days
the fifth morning waking
and standing there

by the window
watching her sleep
and he thinks
no one sleeps

like she does
no one seems to enjoy
sleep like she does
as if she were born to it

and he lets his eyes
rest on her
for a few moments
lets them move

over her lying there
wanting to climb
back in bed
and make love to her

but not while she's sleeping
of course
although he did
years before

with some other woman
that plump one
who had drunk herself
into a slumber

and had said
before she had nodded off
we must make love
and so he had

but it had been no fun
it had no satisfaction
he recalls
taking in

the sleeping woman
before him how
she barely seems to breathe
as she sleeps

and he moves closer
and puts his ear
near to her
careful not to let

his breath wake her
his warm breath
stir her awake
she is moody if woken

before time
will sulk over breakfast
down stairs
in the hotel restaurant

with a face like thunder
sitting at the table
staring down
at her cereal bowl

picking at the food
sipping coffee
no best to let her sleep
he thinks as he moves away

takes in her red night dress
the one he'd bought
in Chicago
and the store girl

had looked at him
as he stood there
with it in his hands
and smiled

and the girl had
a kind of sexy smile
one of those smiles
that seemed to say

wish we were an item
wish that red nightie
was for me
but it wasn't

and he left the store
with it wrapped up
in a neat package
and gave it to her

just before
they came away
and her eyes opened up
when she saw it

and she's worn it
the last five nights
and it has soaked her up
into its cloth now

her perfume
her perspiration
her skin touching it
and it enfolding her

like a mother
and o look at her
sleeping there
he says to himself

look how she sleeps
her red hair
matching her nightdress
o he wants to hold her

and kiss her
and feel her close
o how he wants
to enter her

and explode within her
she lets out
a soft sigh
he stands still

his hand in his pockets
she breathes out
one long sigh
if only she would wake

he muses
his tongue
at the corner
of his mouth

if only she would turn now
and say
come on
come and make love to me

but she doesn't
she moves her leg
her toes move
her buttocks twitch

her fingers scratch an itch
wake up Sweetheart
he mumbles
wake up

his disappointed self says
wake up you bitch.


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Poem Submitted: Saturday, February 2, 2013



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