That Night

Disclaimer: Before concluding anything, please bear with the poem completely. Intended Metaphor.


That night,
It was wet.
Rain lashed hard on my windows,
And a cup of coffee had been already drained.

I was yearning for her,
She let me yearn more.
I called for her, desperately,
But she refused to come.

I remained alone,
I remained uneasy.
I so much wanted her to come,
Come to me and rob me off my uneasiness.
But she lay there, in the dark and alone.

In the dark, she was getting dressed.
Undressed, I didn’t want her so.
I wanted her whole,
I wanted her complete,
In her absolute beauty and charm,
I wanted her so.

But her dressing took up much too long,
And it was worrying me, now.
Because, without her, I was restless,
I was uneasy.

So, making up my mind,
I decided her to bring her forth out of the dark,
Undressed, though she might be,
I couldn’t resist being away.

She still refused.
But I dared,
Summoned up my will,
And I moved forward.

There she was,
In her fullest essence..
Dressing herself,
Being complete.

But somehow, I didn’t want her complete, now.
Beautiful, she looked, while she got herself dressed.
I wanted to simply look at her,
While she was still incomplete.

My poem, refused to come.
My poem, was undressed.
The words, refused to flow,
Even if the ink kept flowing.

My poem, was dressing herself,
All my variety of ideas, were her clothes.
Confusion, was the reason for delay, I now see.
So many ideas, so many clothes,
And my love, my poem was baffled.

I so wanted her complete before,
Complete with one idea out of the many.
But, I didn’t, now.
I decided she looked better getting dressed,
Looking baffled, and confused.

There was my poem,
These are my words.
And undressed though she was,
I made love to her, through my words,
And she loved me back.

When, we were done,
The words had flown,
The paper was inked,
I felt exhaustion,
And there she was, again.

That night, I slept in her arms.
:)