Even her mother <br />never knew <br /> <br />how much <br />sexuality boiled <br /> <br />beneath the surface <br />how much <br /> <br />she thought of it <br />when sitting down <br /> <br />in some cafe <br />watching men <br /> <br />at some nearby table <br />fantasizing <br /> <br />about them <br />dreaming about <br /> <br />what they might do <br />if she allowed <br /> <br />or while sitting <br />at the office typing <br /> <br />her mind on things <br />which’d make <br /> <br />her mother blush <br />the mighty rush <br /> <br />of images <br />and desires <br /> <br />and old Mr Fleet <br />talking to her <br /> <br />about some work <br />not knowing that fires <br /> <br />burned beneath <br />her flesh and skirt <br /> <br />that she made love <br />to herself <br /> <br />while in bed <br />while others slept <br /> <br />and even Kennedy <br />the office ram <br /> <br />would have choked <br />on things she did <br /> <br />in dreams or wrote <br />in her locked up diary <br /> <br />and once <br />when some girlfriend <br /> <br />of her brother’s <br />stayed the night <br /> <br />and shared her room <br />and bed <br /> <br />she fantasised <br />of touching <br /> <br />and turning over <br />and kissing <br /> <br />all in the mind <br />she told herself <br /> <br />just one of those things <br />and even later <br /> <br />when she finally married <br />and lay beside him <br /> <br />at night having <br />sucked him dry <br /> <br />she’d stared <br />out the window <br /> <br />at the silver moon <br />in the dark sky.<br /><br />Terry Collett<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/her-sexuality/
