This week's prompt for RemembeRed asked us to write about a time that rhythm, or a lack thereof, played a role in your life. And don’t use the word “rhythm.” I'm not really a poet but I like to give it a shot once in a while. Concrit welcomed.
The man next to me is strong, virile and mine,
In his slumber he breathes in and out, slow and loud
I bind my ears with my own hands to silence the sound
But he is next to me, strong, virile and mine.
The man next to me is tall, dark and handsome
He sleeps so deeply he knows nothing of me
Head covered by plush pillows I cannot see
But he is next to me tall, dark and handsome.
The man next to me labors hard to provide
His eyes close at the door of day’s end
Mouth opens and out comes an ear shattering wind
But the man next to me labors hard to provide.
The man next to me is friend, lover and spouse
But tonight I’ve rolled him over, to the door and out of the house.
