Forbidden fruit
 
 
I tease him about
his painted fuchsia pink
nails draining pale skin.
 
There is a suicide note
written in his eyes.
Fatigue settled on
the most beautiful face.
 
He's given up the job
and car,
plays in a thrash metal
type band.

Pounding drums drown out
white noise,
and contributes in relieving
the monotony of married life.
 
He writes short observational
studies of urban madness,
that leave me craving more
he's an enigma I'd love
to unravel slowly.

 
Tickling and teasing the
void away.

 
He makes me feel playful
like a mischievous kitten,
but he dangles only
so much string knowing
I'm vulnerable
likely to get tangled.

 
In the vastness of his free spirit
and my need for security.

The first time we met
I was reading my words
his eyes sunk into my soul
observing me with a look
that made me quiver

 
He watches me like I'm a goddess
never making one false move.

 
Once I saw him stroke the silk
of my scarf like it was my breast
and lift to inhale my scent.

But he wears a gold band
that says 'forbidden'

Never over steps the mark
I wish he would.

 
Each and every time it
gets difficult to ignore
this fever that burns

 
To stop fantasising
of his lips and breath
to catch the bus home
with a smitten smile.

 
To stop dreaming that
one day he'll be free
to drink in my passion.

© Maria Gornell/UK