The sun set early that night;
The moon crawled out of its melancholy slumber –
A cold and lonesome torture,
To cast its silvery glow across the lake.
The sullen wind at its side tormenting drooping branches –
A plaything for the gale.
He emerges from the water;
Dripping with delight.
She sits upon the hill,
Beside the heavy oak tree.
Although she was waiting on him,
She had hoped he would not come.
Still in a soaking three-piece-suit –
Just as she had left him –
Face down in the lake.
She sees a glimpse of hope;
That he may still be the man she loved.
He floats to her, shuddering in the breeze.
She hums an unsettling lullaby as he approaches,
He listens and watches her with eyes that undress;
She withdraws her dripping shawl.
He sits beside her with newfound hunger.
Droplets slide between two pert breasts;
Twisted lips licked,
As her chest is made bare.
He’s searching for affection,
Overcome with lust,
Reminded of another time;
Where everything was perfectly pure and good,
When he did not need her touch to remind him what it felt like to be alive.
Pining for a love lost like a wreck in the sea.
For all his memories are in vain,
His worship lingers in her mind;
Curious whether she continues to fill the whole in his heart.
She desires to be known by him still,
And would die to be loved by him, still.
The rain returns with a sombre melody,
Hands find one another between blades of grass,
Lips crash together between breathy moans.
Naked and divine –
Tense under his cold touch.
He makes her feel something;
Lost in the fantasy of love possibly rescued.
Transcendentalist; boundless and surpassing.
Touching her heart of craving desire.
He knows what she needs is not what she wants,
Seeing the reflection of another in her eyes,
Yet he is as vulnerable as her – taking comfort in each other.
Marvellous moans of dissatisfaction.
It is as if it happens in an instant,
Feelings made bare as skin exposed;
It is no longer what they want, it is what they need.
She believes in a love she thinks she deserves,
What does she deserve?
If he cannot have her,
No one else should.
Tormented by corrupt sentiment,
Undressed with piercing eyes and wet fingertips.
A devilish thought creeps as hands wander.
She is not pure, and that, he cannot change.
An inevitable downfall transpires;
Troublesome and unsavoury.
Dear distant lover,
Is God always watching?
How does the embrace differ –
From the damp ground to a touch felt distant?
Eyes lock together…
Locked…
Mustn’t one be afraid?
A force so strange she cannot withstand.
Fingers intertwined with amber hair,
Palms gripping the maw.
She set passion free for she has followed him to this spot –
What shall prevail from this?
Leave her as she is, so young and unsought?
Their love was made to last was it not?
A tightening grip.
A fragile feeling;
A shaky last breath.
Infatuated, he stands silent.
Not a word from above.
He picks up her limp body with a toothy grin.
He carries her down to the water from which he rose,
(A ragdoll in his tight grip)
And saunters in so quietly.
Distance was not desired,
Now distance does not exist.
Emiline Barnett is a young, Sydney based poet and writer with a passion for romance and psychological thrillers. She currently studies English and Creative Writing at Macquarie University, indulging in sports and video games in her free time. With a captivation for the morally grey, Emiline aspires to immerse others in the beauty, and the ugliness, within literature.
