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By Blue Song Date: 2001 Nov 03 Comment on this Work [[2001.11.03.00.55.20913]] |
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The frantic bustle of days long gone echo deep in this silky darkness while lost so deep in memory. I remember the verbena in bloom and you trailing a pleasant blossom so its petals assumed finger tips to travel a bumpy course along my spine, sprint over my shoulder blades, then to touch lightly, sparingly, backwards, halting only the moments you kissed with burning caress each space between my ribs with long drawn lines. You said I blushed a beautiful fuchsia and when I missinterpreted you blushed yourself a beautiful deep pink border on purple tan. You, the verbena and a slow day to lie and simmer in the sun. I had strange thought then, which you never knew, of what it must be like a blueberry pancake turning lightly brown then done. |