Which do you prefer, Haunted Girl-
the city street sidewalk churned
up by heel and brogue
or,
the sweet-talk waves of home?

Settle in the sand while fingers
meld and touch the palms of hands,
let the hour glass beach pass
time between our toes,
have an appetite for shallow
dives amongst wave-tip whites;
whipped up by swell’s whisk,
stare until we sing for the dead men,
fire flares of affection in the form of kisses!
use a tool to sketch our future floor plan,
comment upon the Moroccan oil hair tan,
watch that man trace the coast of France upon his wife’s thigh;
hear her cry as he reaches Cherbourg,
talk of Vienna flagship stores:
forerunner fashion you make look lace,
mention the trees and the shipwrecks,
past relationship breakups and upcoming commitments,
describe, in detail, what you hope to happen
and what happens to that hope.

Fly back home.

Part I

Windows flung open and the breeze stirs
The yellowed muslin curtains
And on the windowsill lies our precious Feline Beauty
As she basks in the warm sunshine

Birds warble and chirp as if to sing her to sleep
The rest of the cats are out walking on the sandy shore
Playfully they pounce on sand covered sticks and palm leaves
And sweetly play the hours away

Later on in the evening they come
Up to the house for their long sought meal
Little noses eagerly waiting for the dish to be set on the floor
And little cries escape "Meow"

Pretty soon it's bedtime
And the naughtiness begins
Spools of thread unraveled
And the rest swing on the blinds

*~Marian~