In this boudoir of booksshe knows of my notice, looks.
Soon her concentration
(pen cap chew and dashful correction)
transcends credibility.
A willful, willling personality
in writings of I.
She is appropriately shy:
my rapist pencil will next
be stealing her honour by text.
I'll paint her belly in ink
then close my eyes and drink
this most ravenous idea:
I sense her writing too of me.
So I scribble on her
and she in return.
If not in
then all over her skin
my words like fingers crawl:
thus in trance we fall.
She writhes and I write
Our sighs soon collide
She depicts my breath
or its lack and regrets
(I firmly agree, I must say)
that this paper romance
grown of chance and of glance
is still a table away.
2 opmerkingen:
Waaw.
Nick, a great one!
I have to admit that I have difficulties writing in English, after a year abroad I thought I was forgetting my native tongue more or less - but poetry disproves that silly idea.
This poem hoewever is great.
Looking forward to part 2!
Yes, I am sort of proud of this one. I didn't intend for it to rhyme, but I got that to work.
Even the flow is mostly working (the rhythm surely carries me on the 'exciting' part).
You not being able to write in English? Let me ponder on that one: hahaaa! You have got to be kidding!
Are we actually writing poetry? I doubt it: we shrivel in the shadow of great authors. But we ARE having fun.
Part 2 will have to wait until I see another 'Miss Around', but I will try to keep a focus (-;
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