The Secret Lover - Poem by Terry Collett
I am the lover of my brother’s wife,
Said Jane; we sit and talk when he’s
Away at work. I love the way she sits
And the sound of her voice, the sparkle
In her eyes when the room lights capture,
Breathe in her scent when we draw near.
I touch her hand to feel her pulse, sense
The blood race beneath her skin, her fingers
Clutching the glass of wine she’s poured,
The way her other hand rests upon my knee.
She is the object of my dreams, the subject
Of my thoughts and sight; she sleeps beside
Me in my bed at night, sometimes imagined
Often for real when her husband’s away.
She is the sun of my body’s planet, the moon
That lights up my dark in a universe of doubt
And deep depression. She is my guide through
Dante’s Hell, my lover behind my brother’s back,
The one who covers me in kisses, who puts her
Tongue where my tongue dwells. We embrace
Like vines about each other, our fingers touch
The contours of our flesh, trace out the features
Of each others’ face. We make love now and then
On my brother’s bed, my head upon his pillow,
My spilt juices where his have laid, my body
Brought to the highest passion, brought to life
And the hottest love by my brother’s wife.
Comments about The Secret Lover by Terry Collett
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
- Still I RiseMaya Angelou
- The Road Not TakenRobert Frost
- If You Forget MePablo Neruda
- DreamsLangston Hughes
- Annabel LeeEdgar Allan Poe
- IfRudyard Kipling
- Stopping By Woods On A Snowy EveningRobert Frost
- TelevisionRoald Dahl
- Do Not Stand At My Grave And WeepMary Elizabeth Frye
- I Do Not Love You Except Because I Love YouPablo Neruda