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Together we would scheme and we'd, walk and we'd play.
We'd talk and we'd pack all life's troubles away
Then we would gaze at the stars and you'd say.
I love the bones of you
love.



A chorus for Sr

Song link:
https://youtu.be/gOovsOv7Yq0
Sometimes you're a real ****** S*r*, why gaslight me?
Just except that you can be loved for you!
To feel your presence is divine

Keeping hopes alive in the night

To say your name feels like you're mine

A dream that was conceived in time




Your name was prayed upon the light;

Under the moon and starry skies

Someday, somehow, to hold those hands

Keep you safe in the coldest night




The thought of "us" is still alive

Hidden at the back of my heart

Waiting for the right time to come

When no one can set us apart.
To Mariah Luigie.
Unsung Serenades: "Love, Undoing Impossibilities (LUI)" by Michael Señorin
Read more @: https://www.wattpad.com/story/131065417-unsung-serenades
 Jan 2018 alwaystrying
RIVR
maine
 Jan 2018 alwaystrying
RIVR
i dream of lighthouses,
endless lobster, and endless laughter.

i dream of coffee shops with kind baristas
and espresso
that sends surges of energy
to my toes.

i dream of kind faces
and soft waters
i am so simple
i just want the sky to be a thin sheet of light gray
and the clouds to be so low
i can walk through them.

i want everchanging leaves
so that i can change with them
but i am the girl who never leaves
i am everchanging
but i am evergreen.

put me in the ground and my roots
will tread through the dirt
kissing every pebble
dancing and diving through the air pockets
and when i reach this middle earth i dream of
who are you to tell me
i can’t?
THE DANGERS OF READING FLAUBERT....AL FRESCO!
( for Ray )

"Souvent la chaleur d’un beau jour..."

he reads, stops:
kisses her.

" ...Fait rêver fillette à l’amour."

she completes the words
kisses...kisses him.

Dining al fresco
feeling somewhat frisky

they throw caution
to the wind

soon all too soon
Flaubert forgotten

Madame Bovary
discarded on the grass

soon all too soon
even the food forgotten

clothing of both
male and female attire

discarded on the grass
now nothing but gasps

they each
the other's feast

the wind idly turning
Bovary's pages

skipping to the end then
beginning again

until one last ***** gusty
breeze interrupts their play

chasing their clothes
that run away

his boxers hang now
upon the bough

her pink camiknickers..pale pink bra
making a run for it

laughingly they chase
their clothes

this Adam and his Eve

bra floating ****-up
in a pond

the camiknickers never
alas to be found.

And here now on their
50th

they share the same smile
when asked how it was

they came together

remembering their love making
in windy weather

shyly slyly blame
Flaubert

" Il souffla bien fort ce jour-là,
Et le jupon court s’envola."
***

From the Italian, literally translated as 'in the fresh'. In English, used to mean either 'in the open air' or, where specifically related to mural painting, 'on fresh plaster'.

Almost always, it is used in relation to dining alfresco, that is, eating outdoors.

Both meanings have been in use in English since at least the late 18th century; for example, in Mrs. Eliza Haywood's History of Jemmy and Jenny Jessamy, 1753:

"It was good for her ladyship's health to be thus alfresco."

The lines quoted are from the end of Madame Bovary who expires as the Blind Man sings them in a raucous voice. They are from a  Restive de la Bretonne poem from his"The Year of the National Ladies" way back in 1791. He who was so much into women's shoes  that his very name became as one with this particular peculiar fetish..Retifism

"Souvent la chaleur d’un beau jour
Fait rêver fillette à l’amour.

Il souffla bien fort ce jour-là,
Et le jupon court s’envola."

"Maids in the warmth of a summer day,
Dream of love, and of love always. . ."

"The wind is strong this summer day
Her petticoat has flown away."
 Jan 2018 alwaystrying
Lap
“Head back eyes closed”

Is what my mother taught me as a child in the bath

So the mix of water and shampoo wouldn’t sting my eyes.

Now much older,

Not even remembering the last bath I was in,

I’m under your waterfall.

There’s no point in pushing back against the sharp, white daggers

Of velocity crazed water droplets.

I drop my head back

And close my eyes,

Hoping that the weight of the water won’t break my back.
See your gathered people,
Huddled in a house of stone
clad in bloom.
A chilled aura
lit by candle light.
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