It begins almost innocently— the way
your gaze remains
after everyone else has looked away,
as if there is something beneath my composure
you mean to uncover.
I should resent being read so easily.
Instead, I wonder what else you might persuade
me to reveal,
October makes accomplices of us,
Rain darkens the garden paths,
dead leaves gather
against the windows, and roses bow their heads
beneath the cold.
Inside, the fire burns low, your shadow
falls across mine,
and for one reckless moment
I cannot tell where either of us ends.
After that, wanting becomes persuasive.
It does not command.
It whispers, it places your name
against my pulse and waits for the answer.
It teaches my eyes to follow your hands,
my breath to betray me
whenever you come too close.
There is an exquisite cruelty
in almost.
Your mouth near mine, but not mine.
Your fingers hovering at my wrist
as though asking a question
neither of us intends to answer aloud.
At night, I become less reasonable.
I imagine doors closing
behind us, candles extinguished one
by one, your voice
lowered to something meant for no one else.
There are thoughts I would never confess
that become remarkably eloquent
once the room is dark.
Perhaps that is the beauty of it—
nothing has happened,
and yet I feel thoroughly compromised.
A glance can become a summons.
A silence can feel
like a hand at the small of my back
and every time
I swear to keep my distance,
I find myself inventing reasons to get closer.
You never placed a spell upon me, you only
opened the door
and looked back as though you knew
I would follow.
I stepped across willingly, knowing exactly
what the dark
might ask of me; if desire is a kind of ruin,
let me be ruined beautifully.
Photo credits: Pinterest
Inspired by “I Put a Spell on You” — Nina Simone 🌹
Posted for Poetics: Thirteen songs – Thirteen hauntings @dVerse Pub
10 Responses
These lines:
“There are thoughts I would never confess
that become remarkably eloquent
once the room is dark.”
And then these:
“You never placed a spell upon me, you only
opened the door
and looked back”
Oh my!!!! So enthralling!
Interesting we chose the same song but went to such different responses! 🙂
Thank you so much, Lillian 😀 so glad the poem resonated with you 💄❤️
I love how you tackled the mansion filled with unfullfilled desire… I sense how it is eating you up… It is a good season to write darkly.
Thank you so much, Bjorn 😀 so glad you liked it 💄❤️
A stunning poem, Sanaa, sensual and spellbinding. I love the way you describe October a making accomplices of us:
‘Rain darkens the garden paths,
dead leaves gather
against the windows, and roses bow their heads
beneath the cold’
and the effect of attraction in:
‘There is an exquisite cruelty
in almost.
Your mouth near mine, but not mine.
Your fingers hovering at my wrist
as though asking a question
neither of us intends to answer aloud.’
Thank you so much, Kim 😀 so glad you enjoyed it 💄❤️
Exquisite, Sanaa. Articulates enchantment so well. My favorite part:
“There are thoughts I would never confess
that become remarkably eloquent
once the room is dark.”
Thank you so much, Lisa 😀 so glad the poem resonated with you 💄❤️
“After that, wanting becomes persuasive.
It does not command.
It whispers, it places your name
against my pulse and waits for the answer.”
BRAVO
much love
You are a conductor to the reader. Breathtaking lines leading us this way and that,
“nothing has happened,
and yet I feel thoroughly compromised.”
Absolutely! And yet, I can feel the aroma of the dead leaves.
Masterful.