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A Heater in a Cold, Dark Room

Baby, all I can smell is musty old rags
mixed with your sweet smelling cologne
that to this day can knock me off my feet.
As you continue to gently cover my eyes with your hands
you lead me to a living room where you uncover them to reveal a living room.
You proclaim you will be right back,
so I sit in an old, yellow, tattered recliner and wait.
I cautiously look around the dusty room,
wondering where ecstasy might take us this evening.
You return with a crooked smile and a flushed face.
"Come with me" you say pointing to the doorway with the make-shift door,
made out of only a thin bed sheet.

I follow you as you lift up the sheet like a perfect gentleman and grab my hand,
this time leading up a flight of gorgeous mahogany steps,
which happen to look too beautiful for this small farmhouse.

I keep this thought to myself, afraid to insult you.
So we continue on.

 As we climb up I grip your hand tight,
being sure not to untwine our fingers
because as we all know, if I slip I might lose you forever.
Finally we make it, we are victorious, but what have we won?

You take me to a bedroom,
the one you inhabited as a child staying with your Papaw in the hot Kentucky summer.
As I stare at the quilt-covered bed
I suddenly become aware of how cold this December night is.
You, my baby, stand by the door looking for something.
I sneak over to the bed,
accomanied by my new found courage and discretely pull off my layers of clothing.

And now I stand in black lace and though I do not remember putting it on,
it feels right in this strange, fairy-tale moment of which you are not aware of yet.
You look up from what your task just as I realize what you have accomplished.

You were putting the small portable heater in the cold, dark room and firing it up
because you saw me shivering when we first walked in,
all I can do is smile 'cause I know you care.

"Come here Baby!" I say to you, with no reservations.
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Submitted on January 13, 2015

1:51 min read

Kyra Keeton Claim this poet

I'm a college student that loves writing and I am a college tennis player. Most of my poetry is about love, loss, family, and nature. I am all about descriptive words, so get ready for them! :-) more…

All Kyra Keeton poems | Kyra Keeton Books

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