Mendacious moments
This is another poem that was written a long time ago (20+ years), and which I’ve only recently rediscovered and reworked. I seem to remember reading about ‘love’ hotels, and I just found myself wanting to write about rooms that were ‘rented by the hour’, digging deeper into the ‘who’ and ‘why’ of the people that were frequenting them.
Mendacious moments
Eyes meeting across the room
Their bodies quickly, yet hesitatingly
Move to meet each other
Move to hold one other
Embarrassingly empty
Yet filled with knowing silence
The room, rented by the hour
Threatens to stifle them
They pause and consider
Actions not yet taken
Right here, right now
They can still turn back
Five steps to the door
Twenty more to their cars
Back to the confinement
Of their impersonal hell
Exhaling deeply
That moment of deliberation is over
Their thoughts and actions
Return to the here and now
Hands, nervously and hurriedly
Seeking out zippers, buttons and clasps
There is no slow reveal
No deliberate sensuality
Instead, almost frantically
They liberate their bodies
Simultaneously and unconsciously
Burdening their souls
Naked now, they pause
Each drinking in the other
Aching to fill, and be filled
They take what they desire
Their lips meet
First gently, then bruisingly
Both so hungry, so empty
Needing to be fed
Fingers, hesitant at first
Quickly become competent explorers
Caressing, pinching and tweaking
Hands pressing and kneading
There is no silence now
Age-old profanities spilling from their lips
A form of honesty and beauty
Amidst the mendacity of the moment
Noisily, they couple
Bodies locked in passion
Needs, so long suppressed
Now matched and met
Later, as passion subsides
Silence finds and binds them
Outwardly, calm and content
Their internal disquiet returns
Checking, physically and mentally
For marks and manifestations
That might pass for love or lust
Their bounty is emptiness and guilt
Later still, dressing quietly
And more than a little self-consciously
They struggle to find the right words
They struggle to find any words
Words of appreciation seeming inappropriate
They silently return to their orderly lives
Each admitting, if only to themselves
That they will do this again