*****
Princess
Soup can telephone,
Flashlight semaphore,
Sawmill whisper, tap on the window,
Blinds parted, then pulled,
Golden curls on backlit pink curtains,
She cocks her head,
“What strange bird is this at my window?”
Come into the night with me.
Come to my castle, high up a tree!
Old window creaks,
Gently slides open,
Nightshirt rustles, vibrates my soul,
Fingers touch, then clasp,
A muffled giggle, swinging,
Those blue eyes,
What sort of cat has climbed my tree?
“I’m come to the night, called by you.”
“I’m here to be queen, King Brian Baru.”
Moonlight shadows,
Gentle warm breezes,
Hands exploring, lips elastic stroke,
Pulses racing, hearts embracing,
Leaves shaking, nocturnal,
Branches flexing,
Oak tree rendezvous, midnight entwined,
“How will we get down from this parapet?”
How can I ever forget such a silhouette?
*****
2007-12-03
01:48:40
·
9 answers
·
asked by
Anonymous
in
Arts & Humanities
➔ Poetry
We are on some kind of thing, Marg, I almost rolled the van this morning. I got all squirrely...when I got back on the hard...I thought "Don't drive like Marg!"
2007-12-03
03:56:52 ·
update #1