A Platonic Affair....

it is evening and it is cold.
the table is alone with its four feet intact.
on top of the roof is the moon, and it is too
alone, just like my own thought of you,
alone,

i wait for you and then you come.
i am sitting and you stand there
and i am thinking
if you are thinking about me
or that you are here because i told you to be here
like i am one kind of
compulsion, like i am an order

i do not wish more about this matter
because all i need is
the voluntary hand, you gaze at me
and i let my eyes fall to the ground,
i am embarrassed,
and you suggest something that i must take off
i do not shed my skin
or my underwear and this is what you have misunderstood
from the beginning of our
meeting,

i do not want you to undress
me or me undressing you
this time, all i need is words, soothing ones, calm syllables,
love that once i lost
because i have given it to another
because for some time, long time ago,
i have been
too foolish.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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