Of Mattie and Me...
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By Silver Spun Sand
Thu, 04 Jun 2015
- 1435 reads
8 comments
Loch Awe, the bees,
buzzing in the heather,
the way you squealed
and ran away whenever
one deigned to invade
your space...
The Meadow Brown
that settled on your hand;
the smile on your face
told me of your inherent love
of butterflies.
The way the wine, dribbled
down the bottle and you wiped it
with your hand; licked your fingers
as it drizzled down your chin
and my mouth watered.
The picnic basket
with its red and white,
chequered lining –
plastic knives and forks
you thought were tacky.
You’d expected more
from Selfridges, you said.
The purple skirt you wore;
beneath its hem, a petticoat
of Breton lace, coyly peeping.
Your look of disdain,
then resignation when a breeze
blew my napkin in the burn
and your eyes captured
the effervescence
of the water.
The way your hand,
cupped your mouth
the zillionth time
you laughed out-loud.
Shoes, discarded – a splash
of crimson varnish,
as you waded, barefooted,
in a vain attempt of salvage.
How your thighs were my cushions
of ivory, silk-velvet; our serenade –
the mewl of a buzzard to its mate.
The thirteen tiny buttons
of finest mother-of-pearl,
on a crêpe-de-Chine chemise.
But more, much more than these,
it was the forbiddenness of it all
I most remember.
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Comments
What a pretty poem. I love to
Permalink Submitted by Deliberately Ev... on
What a pretty poem. I love to see the bees too. They're well worthy of this poem.
The beat of your heart is the mellifluent rhythm to my soul.
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Beautiful summery scene
Permalink Submitted by love_writing on
Beautiful summery scene narrated, with lots of lovely sounds. The last stanza threw me!
love_writing
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'How your thighs were my
Permalink Submitted by Armourpiercing Alien on
'How your thighs were my cushions
of ivory, silk-velvet; our serenade –
the mewl of a buzzard to its mate.'
Liked this.
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