Perfect Lover
My perfect lover was sent to me
By way of a hypnotherapist
On a soft deep couch
It summoned itself
Through soft words
Spoken
Soporific
Like drunk angels
Whose wings too heavy to fly
Rested on the shutters of the eye
Losing track of time
Lost in the hush of a cloakroom
When all have gone home
But one coat remains
Waiting to hang a life on it
Waiting for a love to come
Even after the fifty soft minutes have past
And the light breaks the shade at last
What remains
One single coat
You reach into it and pay
With a fifty pound note
yvette smith sept 08
poem by Yvette Smith
Added by Poetry Lover
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