The Room (2005r) Poem by Patrick Wescott

I've walked the streets of London.
Set sail for the shores of France.
Found tequila
on the beaches of mexico.
And felt the dangerous beauty
of New Oleans.

So what made me walk into that room?
Luck?
Blind chance?
The music of the voices within?

Just a simple room,
set deep from prying eyes.
Where one finds poets,
thinkers and lifers.

Once found, I was drawn,
for that's where I saw her.
Playful and dancing,
tempting and unreachable.

I wandered that room,
circling, watching.
Never finding a way
of getting close to her.

I started to return,
daily, hourly.
I made friends,
others who never leave.

And finally, a look,
a small word from her,
as she stoped her dance
and noticed me.

We smiled and talked,
laughed and played.
All without a touch,
a haunting impression.

Do we dare leave this room,
dare to touch flesh?
Press lips in kisses
only dreamed of?

Leave a room of prying eyes
and dance where eyes may see?
And now that we say yes,
where does the story go?