It was an unconscious love.
Polaroid perfect and picket fence pretty.
Love’s curtain fell. All was dark, still.
Except for the chattering of familiarity
riding so effortlessly on nights
turning on days.
It was an unconscious love.
Polaroid perfect and picket fence pretty.
The encore shook love’s stage awake.
The curtain lifted her skirt with a jerk
and exposed a blinding glimpse of
polarity’s laughing face.
It is a conscious love.
Naked, flowing and full of beauty.
Love’s stage beckons hate to take a bow.
Each to their turn its part must play.
Light illuminating dark and
yes teasing no.
And so, it is, without review.
This conscious love.
Naked, flowing and full of beauty.
© Janet Pieterse 2010
Polaroid perfect and picket fence pretty.
Love’s curtain fell. All was dark, still.
Except for the chattering of familiarity
riding so effortlessly on nights
turning on days.
It was an unconscious love.
Polaroid perfect and picket fence pretty.
The encore shook love’s stage awake.
The curtain lifted her skirt with a jerk
and exposed a blinding glimpse of
polarity’s laughing face.
It is a conscious love.
Naked, flowing and full of beauty.
Love’s stage beckons hate to take a bow.
Each to their turn its part must play.
Light illuminating dark and
yes teasing no.
And so, it is, without review.
This conscious love.
Naked, flowing and full of beauty.
© Janet Pieterse 2010
