Pocket Poetry

The Chair

She's in my chair,

my head,

my routine.

She's interrupting my methodical schedule.

She's the table by my bed that I hit with my elbow, and wakes me up every night in pain.

How dare she intrude, self inviting and distracting.

She dosn't even realize the chaos she causes.

If she could pop into my head for a moment, she would jump up and run in fear.

Oh... Now she see's me ,

starring so innocent,

glinting smile.

She's oblivious to the danger she's creating just by looking at me.

Its not the first time she's done this to me and it won't be the last.

Now I'm shaking with frustration .

If I could get her alone I'd show her!

That innocent look wouldn't last long, like a snake bitten rat she'd squirm and wiggle.

She'd be powerless from my poisonous gaze.

She'd take one look at my eyes and freeze.

She'd know exactly what I think of her.

I'd intrude on her soul like she does with mine,

But I'd show no mercy.

I'd stand close enough to heat the air between us,

lean in and gently tooth her ear,

brush her side with my fingertips, as they make their way slowly up her back, into her hair and gently pull.

Caressing her neck with my breath, I'd chill her spine and let her body tell me what she wants.

I'd leave her trembling with an emotional quiver.

And then...

I'd take my chair back!

This is a poem I wrote about the days leading up to my wife and I getting together. Every time she went to the coffee shop where we hung out, she always seemed to find my chair and sit in it.