Who lay here before me, clutched by
This starched linen, thinking of an absent
Lover and the loneliness of unfamiliar places?
Who stood on this rough carpet, gazing
Through rain-washed windows at the Clyde,
Wanting to taste the bright lights of a sleepless city?
Who appropriated this space, even briefly,
To soothe their mind and secure their secrets?
Whose was this illusory haven, built from the
Discreet assurances of professional strangers and
Anonymity claimed despite the gawk and chatter?
Who danced to old tunes under the ceiling-sunk spotlights,
Draining the mini-bar as suddenly all things seemed possible?
Who came here before me, bringing escorts or a boy,
Or a childhood sweetheart chanced upon?
Who before me did their best to call this home?
YOU ARE READING
Fragments And Reflections
PoetryPoems looking at everything and anything not in my other collections. Here you'll find life and time, wild oceans and lonely coast paths, busy streets and empty hotel rooms, wild concerts and late night writing. All just fragments and reflections, l...
