Happy 5th Anniversary Adipositivity!
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I Fear
I fear a love which fills my heart is slowly draining away
But taking the next step is one that hurts far too much
Now I have given up in believing in dreams that come true
When the secrets known to capture time are beyond my grasp
I am so afraid that someday there won’t be anything
That his caress will not be even a distant memory
Let alone the minutiae details of just our daily living
I fear a love which fills my heart is slowly draining away
I dared to dream I’d remember every aspect for all time
But what hold have I a mere mortal against all eternity?
I know this slow erasure is part of the steps in moving on
But taking the next step is one that hurts far too much
I need his kindred touch to remain locked deep inside me
Always a part of my soul as I believed with each breath
When our every want and dream seemed just a day away
Now I have given up in believing in dreams that come true
Yes, I need his kindred touch to remain locked deep inside me
For I dared to dream I’d remember every aspect for all time
Now I am so afraid that someday there won’t be anything
When the secrets known to capture time are beyond my grasp
<>==========<>==========<>
You know me and forms, today it is a Cascade.
In a Cascade a poet creates the initial stanza then takes each consecutive line from that first stanza and makes those the final lines of each stanza afterward. If the first stanza is sextet, then the complete poem will have seven stanzas. A tercet results in four stanzas and so on. Beyond that, there are no additional rules for rhyming, meter, etc.
The Between
He brings her a bracelet and a bunch of roses
For the fifteen years they’ve been together
She reads the card and the bracelet’s engraving
And something gut deep in her looses its tether
Conclusions once jumped to became solid proof
As Dinah reads his words of love to a Heather
She smiles sweetly handing him a poisoned plate
It’s a slippery slide between love and hate
She’s always been ‘such a good little girl‘
But she was never up to snuff among the pseudo rich
All she wants is to have what all of them have
For kids are cruel to those not matching their niche
Just once she cries, her fingers touch the jewelry case
Filled with a longing so deep her eyes start to twitch
She lets go of the ring and walks away from the site
It’s a slippery slide between wrong and right
A mother gently rocks her new-born babe
The first to come home after many tries
A stray bullet sails through the pastel drapes
And the newborn babe, quickly dies
The husband knows he’s lost more than his child
By the hollow blank stare of his wife’s eyes
And all he’s ever loved leaves this proud man bereft
It’s a slippery slide between life and death
Machines click, whoosh and beep their sounds
His sister copes by force of sheer will they say
But without a transplant, her body deteriorates
And all wonder if she’ll make it another day
They found a match! There’s a thread of a chance
And for the first time in years he kneels to pray
That she makes it as the organ flies through the air
It’s a slippery slide between hope and despair
When he was young it was always “not me”
Even when he was caught red-handed
As he got older the fibs were more creative
Going with whatever the need demanded
All but one he could lie straight in their faces
His truth and lies mixed as he commanded
He said he loved her, but walked away with a sigh
It’s a slippery slide between white and blatant lies
He kisses her cheek, ready to take her home
But he can’t seem to get his thoughts in sync
She feels so good as she leans in oh so close
Knowing she’s had far too much drink
But the scent of her thrills him and she can’t say no
They’re both naked and done before he can think
She never talked, but his own bullet put his guilt to rest
It’s a slippery slide between his love and incest
Hadn’t seen each other since grad school
Where animosities brought love’s ugly rend
Now global businesses made them partners
But will their past uphold or upend?
Their eyes lock as she comes off the passageway
Somehow knowing they’ve regained more than a friend
Two shy smiles first start to grin, then burst into laughter
It’s a slippery slide between good-bye and happily ever after
The between is that space that we hold dear
The whispers of hope in our ear
That susurrus haunting our deepest fear
It can save you from a life of crime
One step further from a life that’s prime
Or straight into the end of your earth’s time
It’s the slippery slides that no one can eschew
But how you handle them? Well that’s up you
====================
The Bloom
.
.
I saw this little sprout one day
A sprout like none I’ve seen before
Unique
Rising between a concrete crack
From time to time I would notice
The growth
Against the forces deigned to halt,
Something so delicate and free
It thrived
From spindly bud to luscious bloom
One day it caught my eye and held
Me there
I knew then any further growth
Would need the help of one who cared
Like me
For I then young but determined
Had learned sometimes even the tough
Need help
That I needed this bloom as much
Was revelation in itself
Welcomed
The bloom that grew to be my wife
That watched me grow from boy to man
To hers
====================
Today’s form: Synchronicity
“Synchronicity” (The state or fact of being synchronous or simultaneous; synchronism. coincidence of events that seem to be meaningfully related.). This form consists of eight three-line stanzas in a syllable pattern of 8/8/2. This poetry type has no rhyme and is written in the first person with a twist. The twist is to be revealed within the last two stanzas.
This Chic In Paris – Part III
In Part I of my post on Paris I spoke a little about the people, Part Deux covered food, I would be remiss if I did not cover …
L’Art (The Sites) –
Myth busting: All of Paris is not old brick, marble, cobblestone streets and fancy ironwork. Granted all of that beautifully exists and there are several sections which strive to maintain, as much of that old world look feel as possible. The Les Halles section where I stayed on the East Bank and the Latin Quarter on the West Bank of the Seine River are excellent examples of such. After all, that is part and parcel of the Paris charm, no? However, I promise you, smooth paved asphalt roads and concrete sidewalks are nicely intermixed, especially along the main traffic drags and shopping areas, thank you. North of the city, but very much a part of Paris proper, is where things become very modern. Take a cruise along the Seine and you will see this easily enough. Classic or nouveau in style, the architecture of the museums/monument/sites is as fantastic and varied the art housed within.
I should warn you, I am not critiquing specific works in this entry. In fact, I won’t discuss much art at all. This is just a written snap shot of a few of the places I chose to visit this go around.
L’Musées and Monuments and Sites
Musée Du Lourve
Let’s get it out the way – Musée Du Louvre. I do not care how many times you are told the museum is huge, if you have not seen it with your own eyes, you are not prepared for the expanse of it. Those who have been to the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York City will understand what I am about to say here. Take every square foot of the MMA, triple it and you will FEEL like you still only have perhaps one-third of the Louvre. (Edited to say FEEL as a commenter below and a couple of other friends were nice enough to point out that the MMA in fact id 3x larger than the publicly accessible parts of the Musée Du Louvre.)
And yes, that harlot Mona Lisa gets the bulk of the initial attention. Do yourself a favor, get in, follow the signs to go see her, attempt to get your obligatory photo with it and get out of the area as soon as possible. You can say you’ve seen her, were surprised by the size of the painting like the rest of us and move on to the other attention seekers of the place. Speaking of attention whores – next, do a run by the other famous strumpet of the museum, the gorgeous Venus De Milo. When you see the beauty of it up close and personal, you can understand why so many replicas exist in the homes of many wannabe art collectors and most half-naked woman enthusiasts.
A word of advice to first-timers: do yourself a favor, get a schedule for the “Highlights” tours and let a guide take you around to all the presumed good stuff first in the Louvre. Then return on your own and explore the sections that captured your fancy at your leisure. Let’s face it, unless you work there, you may never see everything in the Louvre; not to mention the exhibits that change on a regular basis. Believe me, even if you had a month to do nothing but walk the Louvre every day, you would likely still miss something. Seriously, the place is that freaking HUGE!
Other favorite places of my trip:
Musée d’Orsay
Musée d’Orsay– more into the modern than the classic arts? This is your museum. Housed in what was once a train station building, Van Gogh, Gauguin, Cézanne, Degas and so much more find a home here. I also discovered a couple of new artists whose work captured my attention enough to write the information down, so I can look up their names and see what else they may have done.
Musée Rodin – The art is housed in Rodin’s former home and gardens. If the only thing you know of Rodin is The Thinker you are so in for a surprise as to the extent of his works. Let’s just say, Mr. Alighiere–Rodin did ya proud with The Gates of Hell, dude.
Versailles – Hall of Mirrors
The Château de Versailles. This is a day trip on its own to make the most of it. The grandeur of the King and Queens Apartments, the majesty of the Gardens and splendor The Hall of Mirrors had me in awe for the sheer beauty of it. What was once a simple hunting lodge gradually transformed into a palace where king and queens displayed their power in ostentatious fashion until the French Revolution. And truth be told, I can understand why the impoverished populace wanted off with the heads of their monarchy after seeing it. Don’t forget to include a visit to Marie Antoinette’s little farm near Versailles, when she wanted to get away from burdens of wearing the crown.
Notre Dame – Flying buttresses and the rose window – enough said. The lines can be long, but they move quickly. Go for the bell tower tour. It’s the only way to really see the beauty of the flying buttresses the church is famous for.
Sainte-Chapelle – If the lines of Notre Dame, however fast-moving still galls you, across the courtyard is Sainte-Chapelle’s Church. A beauty in its own right with its famed glass windows this church is worth a visit.
Note: Notre Dame, Sainte-Chapelle and several other churches worth visiting still function as houses of worship. You will not likely to be able to tour most of them during services, especially Sunday services.
Tour Eiffel / Eiffel Tower
Honorable mention of course to the most recognized and famed tourist attraction of all of Paris – L’Tour Eiffel (that’s the Eiffel Tower for you English speakers). Visit there in the day time to see wonderful views of the city from up high. Visit it at night to enjoy the loveliness of the Tower itself all lit up. Especially after sundown, where every hour on the hour it sparkles like sunlight on ocean waves reminding you of why Paris is called the City of Lights.
There is so much more I saw that I loved, but I have to draw a line somewhere so I stop here.
Next up – Is That All?
Seasons
Seasons
The first day of his smile
Banishing the chill of a late frost
Thus my love comes
On the dawn of the first day
of the first spring
To tend my garden, till the sacred soil
Where the silky folds of my flower blossoms
Gently, widely
As my summer sun also rises
When he gazes past the twin hills
To the valley beyond
Offering the sweetest of nectars
Thus my love comes
To reap that which was so deeply sown
On a harvest moon divine
The fruit of his labor stretched out
Across a starlit ravine
Call him yet home again
Thus my love comes
On the last sunset of the last day
of the last fall
Stoking the hearth warmth
And we rest
The seventh day of my smile
====================
Poetry Picnic Week 37: Peace…
This Chick In Paris – Part Deux
Bon soir!
In Part I of my post on Paris I spoke a little about the people, now it’s about …
The Food –
Myth busting: Contrary to a friend’s popular belief, Parisian cuisine is not all bread, cheese, butter and wine. She forgot the potatoes. I kid! I kid! (Sorta.)
Breakfast/Brunch – I must say I was quite surprised to see that according to the menu – a French Breakfast consisted of a buttered baguette, a croissant and smattering of preserve. I mean were we not in the land of the infamous french omelette? Where’s the jambon (ham) and oui, le fromage (cheese) and other goodness most Americans associate with a breakfast omelette? Yes, it is bread and butter, plus a croissant which is naturally buttery, but really? That’s it?
This gal wanted some meat and since it was closer to lunch time, ordered a Croque Monsieur. For those unfamiliar with this, truth be told, a Croque Monsieur is a glorified grilled ham and cheese sandwich. Oh, but what a sandwich!
What makes it worth it is the Gruyere cheese. This favorite of French cafés and bistros also switches genders and becomes a Madame when topped by a fried egg. And speaking of eggs…
Lesson learned – I don’t know if was just that specific restaurant where we dined, or part of the culture, but one should definitely learn how to say I want my eggs cooked well if you do not like your fried/sunny-side/boiled/scrambled eggs runny. Different breakfast meals with types of cooked eggs, same results. It did not bother me, but J & M were quite perturbed when their sunny-side up egg was served considerably less than, as J put it “crispy”.
A pleasant lesson learned is how they serve coffee. They do not steam the milk Italian style, but it is served hot. You get all the flavor, but do not lose the heat and it’s not frothy like a latte. I actually liked that.
Lunch/Dinner – I had duck, beef, seafood dishes (two as part of multi-course meals), and one sausage dish. We started learning the first night pretty much everything was served with some form of potato, the most common thing being frites (fries). By the fourth day, when someone ordered Moules Frites I was not surprised at all to see mussels served with fries. I will say I took complete pleasure in seeing a bottle of good ol’ Heinz Ketchup (in English!), appear every where fries were served, oh yeah!
The only meal that was disappointing for me a sausage and mashed potato dish from a place which came nicely recommended. I, and the only other person that ordered it, both found it to be overly salty for our tastes and couldn’t eat it. Other than that, every thing else ranged from very good to oh damn this is good.
Late night – Every major metropolis has their hole-in-the-wall 24 places to get some grub, and Paris was no exception. You know the type of place. We’re not there for the ambiance or the nutritional value of the meal. It’s not cuisine – it’s food: they’ve got – we want it – that’s all. The major difference is I’m not getting a ham & cheese crepe at 4am in New York City. I am in Paris after all.
My three favorite dishes:
No. 3: Now tell me – how can something with only two damn ingredients and some seasoning be so divine? That was the caprese and side salad. In season tomatoes at their peak flavor and fresh mozzarella are truly the key here. They were simply wonderful by their selves. With the wonderfully flavorful pesto sauce drizzled across – they were sublime.
No. 2: I wish I had thought to write down the name of the dish. The duck was nicely trimmed of fat, so tender and perfectly cooked. The broth of tiny diced vegetables and raisins was savory. The Parmesan mashed potatoes with a tiny sprinkling of chives balanced well with the duck. It was oh so freaking YUM!
No. 1: The seasoned shrimp and risotto. I need to give a tiny be of back story here. The duck dish above and the shrimp/risotto were both from L’Amazonial and were literally the first french foods to grace our palettes. I had ordered the duck and M ordered the risotto. Typical tourists we are sampling from each other. Each of us gave pause when the risotto hit out tongues. Creamy, cheesy and still somehow perfectly firm. It was served atop of a sauce that tasted a whole lot like the broth served with my duck sans the veggies and raisins. As much as I loved the duck (drool), the was risotto was my first oh damn this is good moment. We all also agreed though nicely seasoned and very delish, the shrimp was a little dry. I presume that seemed to be the style of the dish as repeat orders had the same results. Notice I said repeat orders? After some sight-seeing, when we returned for dinner, three of us ordered the dish and we came back the next day for it. Yes, it really was that good.
Desserts – Oh you didn’t think I was going to leave it out did you? For shame! The bad news – because I choose art over food as my focus this trip I did not make any specific food runs. I know, what kind of fat girl am I, right?! It happens. The good news – I did have a few desserts. I am a fat girl after all. It happens. The two best were an apple galette with vanilla ice cream and of course a crème brulee.
The apple galette was mouth watering on sight. The crust was perfect. Not over buttery, too sweet, not so dense you wanted a hacksaw to cut through it, but not so flaky it turned to dust at the lightest touch. The apples were tender, delicately sweet and just spot on good. The caramel swirls were just – well icing on the cake – lol. The crème brulee – oh what can I say. The sugar topping was expertly torched. If I had a toothpick to get to the edges, I could have lifted the shell as a whole disc. The crème was simply ooh la la riche! And for once not served in some little squat ramekin as generally served at restaurants here in the US, but in a nice wide one. Plenty of torched sugary goodness and even more crème to enjoy.
We enjoyed two three multi-course meals. One at wine pairing event, restaurant and another while cruising along the Seine. Were they delicious in their own right? -yes. The wine pairing dinner introduced me to something called a dorade. The menu card that came with the meal simply called it “Dorade with avocado and mango salsa.” The fish was so delicate in flavor that the avocado and mango nearly washed it out, but it was tasty. I actually looked up the word dorade to confirm it was indeed fish. The river cruise had this interesting soup, pairing a warm puree of zucchini, green beans and Lima beans, with cool pieces of its composite vegetables within. Two unique tastes and textures I would order again. Otherwise the two meals would be unfortunately forgettable were it not for the marvelous company of my dining companions.
Other than breakfast, wine or some form of liquor was a part of nearly each meal. Still, I was not any where near laden down with all this famed butter and cheese and I have to say a part of me is highly disappointed dammit. Perhaps this richness is in the outer regions of Paris. Probably where all the fat Parisians are hiding also. Next trip to France I must go in search of them and their famed über rich food.
Trip-Advisor et al, have their uses as an excellent resources, for where to dine, but please don’t let it be one’s only deciding factor. If I only followed those suggestion I may never have discovered that risotto. Overall, while I enjoyed nearly every morsel that crossed my lips, the meals I enjoyed the most were in the places we simply happened across in our travels. I would suggest the same to other first-timers.
Bon appetit? Indeed!
Next – L’Art (The Sites)
This Chick In Paris – Part I
Bon jour!
Ever go to a restaurant and receive a dish that has a smear of some flavorful sauce as a part of it to your plates? You get a good hint of the taste, but damn if it does not have you wanting to try some more of it. Spending a week in Paris is akin to that. I’ve had hint of that wonderful taste, but there is so much more to it.
The People Culture –
For the record French women do not all sound like breathless sex kittens. And no, all the men do not sound like a mix of Maurice Chevalier and Pepe LePew (oh just Google it if you’re too young to know the former). Speaking of LePew – there was no more body odor in Paris than one would find on the NYC subway in the summer in rush hour. Yes, there were definitely some people who, without any secret, needed to be banned, armed and hammered to the nth degree (see what I did there?), but I did not find this overwhelming cloud of BO funk permeating the air within any closed quarters.
Speaking of clouds, after years of having smoking banned at nearly all public places in NYC, it took a moment to adjust to the constant state of nicotine that went hand-in-hand with eating at any outdoor café or restaurant. This seemed almost mandatory the closer you sat to the street: a glass of wine, some form of bread food and a ciggy. For me it was a flashback to the 70s- 80s, when it was still prevalent here. For some of the younger ones traveling with us it was a culture shock to see our waiter (clearly on a smoke break), smoking a cigarette as he sat on his haunches at a nearby table conversing with fellow diners.
Parisians do have a certain joie de vivre mixed in with a healthy dose of but of course! about them. Obviously, I can’t speak for all of France, however, trust me, after a couple of days it becomes pretty easy to spot even the most bohemian Parisian native from a Portlandia tourist. Even when Parisians do grunge, there’s a certain finesse about it. You can’t put your finger on it, but you just know.
What I do want to know is – where are the fat Parisians? The only clearly fat people I saw were without a question fellow tourists. As I said, after a couple of days, it becomes easier to spot who’s who. Only at the Bear Den (a gay bar we discovered not far from our hotel), had any men of girth. Even so our bears from the US would dwarf most of them. And corpulent native women? They simply did not exist within the city. Some very curvy girls – yes, but even Botero would be hard pressed to find models for inspiration here. So seriously – where are they?
They definitely were not at the club four of us ladies went to Friday night. On the advice of our concierge we went to a place in the Latin Quarter, arriving a little after midnight. When we got downstairs past the bar into what looked like a small place, to say we were unimpressed was putting it mildly. If there were six people on the dance floor it was a lot. We were sure our guy misunderstood us, but decided to hang in there for a bit. Good thing we did, because an hour later the place was a mass of hot, sweating, gyrating bodies coming out of the woodwork. There was a couple that was owning the dance floor, if it got any hotter between them they would need to get a room. Looks were deceiving as we later noted a separate indoor lounging area and an outdoor smoking area. It was not quite the tiny place we thought it to be. Some hip-hop, some reggae, some Soca, some meringue as well as French tunes throbbed the air. Rihanna was truly the DJ’s favorite as at least six of her songs played. Other than the French songs we could have been in any underground in the City. Viva Parisian Nightlife!
The only downside of the night happened as the four of us walked back to our hotel. L & M walked a few feet ahead of J & I in our separate conversations. A group of about six young men (young in my eyes as the oldest person among us), being half-drunk young men on what’s now early Saturday morning were walking in the opposite direction when a couple of them spotted L & M. I don’t know if it was because L & M are two young, beautiful and very petite women, that they Black, that they clearly were not French or all of they above, but the next they J & I knew three of the males had changed course and were rapidly coming up behind L & M. One of the females in our group was not-so-casually felt up by a male when we rode the bus late the night before, after the trains stopped running. Also, I had heard some young French males target young American females in such a manner. So, call it instinct or just being on guard, but I got ethnic in a heartbeat when it looked like one was about to reach out and touch… “Do it and I’ll fuck you up!” Came out of my mouth so fast and with such vehemence it wasn’t funny. I was reaching for my keys to use as a weapon if needed when I remembered I didn’t have them on me. Luckily L & M sensing the guys approach had turned around to reclaim their personal space just as I called out. Between L & M’s quick turning and my threat the idiots backed off. At least one clearly understood what I said and how I meant it, repeating the words to their friends as they quickly backed-off. Sexual predators exist in any language and apparently so does a properly nasty “I’ll fuck you up!”
And speaking of nasty, I’ll confess here that I arrived in Paris fully prepared for the infamous French attitude for those like me who couldn’t be so bothered to learn even a smattering a phrases. I only encountered one person who blatantly chose to ignore me. The woman looked in my face with clear contempt, then continued speaking to her friend as though I didn’t exist and I had yet to speak. In all honestly, having been the recipient of such here in the states, I could not discern if the rudeness was a Parisian thing or if she was simply a bitch. My vote is for the latter. Every else where I went someone either spoke broken to perfectly accented English (ah, Jordan you loquacious charmer!), or we pantomimed until we figured things out. Perfect example – I caught a cold and wanted to go to a Pharmacy to purchase cold medicine. Pantomiming a sneeze got me a pack of tissues. Seeing the word médicamentnear the counter easy enough to say. However, they thought I had allergies, an easy enough presumption given the season, but not quite what I wanted. Let me take a moment now to honor my high school English teacher for instilling in me the penchant for looking at the etymology of words. As I explained to a friend, it came in handy as by some miracle I remembered the word rheum (as in runny eyes or nose) is old French and Greek in its base. It turns out it is also the modern French word for guess what? – the common cold. Less than ten minutes after I walked in, I walked out with two packs of tissues and Actifed (and the old Actifed that worked better before the US changed the formula a few years ago to boot). Thank you Ms. Warren!
All in all, for someone who’s majority of french speaking skills can be summed up in Fère Jaques and a certain phrase via Patti Labelle, I think I did well in Paris. Granted, if I want to travel the rest of France I’m thinking it would behoove me to pick up a Rosetta Stone first.
Next up – the food!
For A.J.
I did not think anything could bring me down from my “I’m Going To Paris!” high. The excitement for the trip has grown by leaps and bounds this past week and now it’s only two days away. Even the dreary rainy Monday morning that greeted me couldn’t get me down.
Then I read about A.J. …
A.J. Confessore, for those who would not know, had a larger-than-life costumed alter-ego known as C.C. Banana. This included several subsets such as Bananakin Skywalker when interviewing in the Star Wars circuit and Ace Peeley when in the KISS realm.
A.J. also had another well-known costumed alias, Maul Stanley. Maul Stanley was a wicked merging of two of his favorites Star Wars (Darth Maul) and KISS (KISS member Paul Stanley). However, most knew him best as C.C. Banana. C.C. was infamous, in the fringes of the heavy metal crowd for his irreverent and often snarky, interview style.
A.J.’s alter egos: Maul Stanley being interviewed by C.C. Banana as Bananakin Skywalker.
A tiny sense of his wicked humor – at a party where the theme was “Gone but Not Forgotten” he appeared as thus:
C.C. Banana as “Banana Nicole Smith”
There’s a party happening this Memorial weekend. It’s the type of function where he would have made such an appearance as C.C. I know there will be a moment of silence for him, which is odd for the energetic A.J. was anything but. Granted, he wasn’t everyone’s cup of tea, but C.C. Banana had his appeal (appeal get it? C.C. would have loved that pun).
In other circles, A.J. as himself was also known for his outgoing personality and zany humor as well as for his support and Fat Activism in producing the CD Whole Lotta Love, An All Star Salute To Fat Chicks, a unique musical montage celebrating the Big Beautiful Woman.
A.J. at the CD release party for “Whole Lotta Love”
A.J. was always gracious and funny and gave his all as C.C./Maul and himself.
As I wrote on his Facebook an hour or so after I learned of his death this morning:
“Bananakin Skywalker + Ace Peeley + Maul Stanley + CC Banana = A.J. Confessore.
Logically my head processes what has happened, but my heart cannot reconcile the lively force that created such irreverent characters and gave a Whole Lotta Love to us all, lost that joy for himself. R.I.P. A.J. you will be missed.”
Knowing why he chose to end his life in my head and understanding why in my heart are very two different things. It’s so many hours later and I sit here still unable come to grips with the loss. The C.C. I know would pull some gallows humor from this and a part of me that usually can crack a snark at damn near anything feels as though I’m somehow failing his spirit in my inability to do so now.
I’ve returned to his Facebook page a couple of times today to read all the heartfelt comments of so many who have felt his love whether for just a few moments at a party as C.C., for few years as A.J. or for many years as Tony (as his nearest and dearest know him). It’s crying shame he could not feel all this love for him in return to help him through.
R.I.P Anthony Joseph Confessore – you made us tear up in laughter, I wish that was why we cried now.
Bill
His complexion is dark
even more so in the dimness of the night
A smooth polished ebony
what little light there is
playing on the curve and contours
of his wide shoulders
broad back
long thighs
knobby knees
I know I should have been asleep long ago
I can’t
there is such a screwball perfectness
to his form in sleep
marred only by
scars collected over the years
each one a separate story
each one a separate delight
He turns in is sleep and reaches out
I move just close enough to lay within
His reach
his hand slowly slides down my arm
from the shoulder to the elbow
to the hand to the fingers resting on
my hip and thigh searching
For something
even he doesn’t realize
that he’s looking for
I smile to myself
and nuzzle close to him
feeling him
smelling him
silently whispering
I’m here
right here
right next to you
And finally having found
the something
only his sleeping soul can find
his hand relaxes
and I feel his body
go deeper into the sleep
he never woke from
and finally I join him
====================
Raivenne-lations 