The Pacing

September 4, 2009
By , Schomberg, Canada
The pacing of your feet in light blue stilettos,

Around in circles you walk; indecision in your step.

This isn’t the first time you’ve paced around my heart,

avoiding entering through the front door.

My hand rests on the windowsill and I wonder,

How long will this pacing last? The heels are worn.

The light through the window is already reflecting the dust,

I’m still waiting for you to let me in, yet you’re the one outside.

Provincetown is waiting for us; the coloured flag is sitting in my open closet,

ready to hang outside our house where it will be welcomed.

Open your closet and put away your stilettos,

the dunes of the Cape are waiting for our bare feet.

A rap on the back door – I let you in hoping you’re about to do the same.

You grab an apple from the bowl on the kitchen table,

Bite it, I beg – curiosity tortures me ,

We can be Eve and Eve. Is being in love a sin?

I notice you aren’t wearing any colour; it doesn’t suit you,

your lips look less tempting – until you lower them to the apple,

caressing it with your mouth. You coyly eye me until I can’t hold back.

Forbidden Fruit: pink lipstick mixed with red creating a bashful hue.

You kick off your stilettos and place them carefully in my open closet.

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