Moira Hyde ~ Disguise

Disguise

 

It’s not too much to ask, is it?

A kiss that means it,

A kiss that starts soft and quite still

Then tantalises, teases, tingles,

Lingers, leaves moments of stillness,

Soars back , searches,

Sends shockwaves down the spine.

 

I found that kiss with a man at a fancy dress party.

Dracula wanted to do things to me

urgently, wildly.

But he had a girlfriend

and I was dressed as some strange nun.

 

Exactly a year later, at the same house,

a satanic pop star lifted a widow’s veil.

It was the same lips,

disarming, urgent, wanting more!

The shed was suggested

But moral rectitude raised its armour

yet again

Sending me home like a thief in the night

without a prize.

 

Would I even recognise the man

at the Somerfield check-out?

Or will we pass each other in the street, unrecognised

into our sixties and seventies,

Perhaps meeting again at a fancy dress party

for octogenarians?

 

Moira Hyde, November 2004