I've walked the streets of London. <br />Set sail for the shores of France. <br />Found tequila <br />on the beaches of mexico. <br />And felt the dangerous beauty <br />of New Oleans. <br /> <br />So what made me walk into that room? <br />Luck? <br />Blind chance? <br />The music of the voices within? <br /> <br />Just a simple room, <br />set deep from prying eyes. <br />Where one finds poets, <br />thinkers and lifers. <br /> <br />Once found, I was drawn, <br />for that's where I saw her. <br />Playful and dancing, <br />tempting and unreachable. <br /> <br />I wandered that room, <br />circling, watching. <br />Never finding a way <br />of getting close to her. <br /> <br />I started to return, <br />daily, hourly. <br />I made friends, <br />others who never leave. <br /> <br />And finally, a look, <br />a small word from her, <br />as she stoped her dance <br />and noticed me. <br /> <br />We smiled and talked, <br />laughed and played. <br />All without a touch, <br />a haunting impression. <br /> <br />Do we dare leave this room, <br />dare to touch flesh? <br />Press lips in kisses <br />only dreamed of? <br /> <br />Leave a room of prying eyes <br />and dance where eyes may see? <br />And now that we say yes, <br />where does the story go?<br /><br />Patrick Wescott<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-room-2005r/
