Les amours imaginaires


By Simona Ivanova

bag and bra and belt have been abandoned

on the floor, the scattered remnants of a Bacchic night

the silky dress still clinging

to the edge of the bed, almost

touching her


she sleeps now

at last

and her soft breaths make the room hold its own

while I wake and look upon her

eyes closed, mouth blow-a-kiss open

and think

I may very well die here and now


this is beauty


how she turns her back to me

still deep in slumber

while I rise from my own bed

and wash and dress and eat

and go outside to celebrate the tenderness

within me


the dance of the imagined lovers is only

for one



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