//mypoeticside.com/

Fay Slimm

Chafing.

 

 

Chafing.

 


The ready aroma of un-begun love
pervaded the fetters in which she simmered.
The chafing of hungry restraint
cloistered her longing and calloused the
rigid decorum of concord.

 

The lady burned for the covert, craved
the taboo and dreamt
of surrender to reckless behaviour,
yet still concurred.

Locked in ruthless austerity of hollow
convention warm
juices gelled when met with rejection.

As the haze of make-believe parted
revealing reality
so starkly set she started to weep.

 

Lucre pursued produces poor little
rich girls who, rule
immersed in frigid formality, learn
as they yearn for love.