Solitary Pleasures
of the Night

No-one tells you nowadays to keep your hands
where they can see them. Still, it has to be
a secret indulgence, something to soothe
after a stressful day - and fewer calories
than chocolate, less guilt even for a recovering
Calvanist than one too many glasses of red wine;
and a comfort when sleep opens the curtains
and, unable to pass an open window, leaps
into the waiting night. And who’s to know anyway
under the cover of dark, when a couple of fingers
can so easily find their mark. Go on, Google yourself.

Eleanor Livingstone

If you've any comment on this poem, Eleanor Livingstone would be pleased to hear from you.