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Cordelia Copson
entirely fictitious
Julian Delia
24/M/Malta    'Literature is a record of one human being's sojourn on earth, proferred in verse or prose that artfully weaves together knowledge of the past with ...


Terry Collett Jul 2016
Delia has seduced
the girl who came
with goods
from the grocer
(in the bed
she shares
with Chrissie)

before that
on the Monday
she had bedded
the post girl
who brought a parcel
(that time on the sofa
the bed being unmade)

and before that
it had been Chrissie's
best friend
(the weird one
but who had
lovely *****)

now she is heading
to the girl
Chrissie had asked
to **** and sort
the garden
who has a
lovely ***
(Delia had seen
from the bedroom window
and wants to ******

but Chrissie is still
downstairs and spots
her(Delia) walking
down the garden path
with that look
in her eyes

Chrissie opens
the kitchen door
and calls Delia
where are you going?

Delia stops
thought you had
gone off to work?

not yet
Chrissie says
where were you off to?

Delia smiles
just thought I'd see
how the garden girl
was doing
Delia says

she's doing all right
Chrissie says
looking at Delia
why aren't you
at college teaching?

I'm in late
Delia says
wanting to go
and investigate
the garden girl's
behind and such

have you
made the bed?
Chrissie says

no not yet
Delia says
but I am hoping to

Chrissie sighs  
well make it now
and don't forget
to put on the casserole
before you go

Delia nods and walks
back into the kitchen
with Chrissie
and closes the door

(she wanted to explore
the garden girl
and make love
perhaps or more.
YES, DELIA loves! My fondest vows are blest ;
Farewel the memory of her past disdain ;
One kind relenting glance has heal'd my breast,
And balanc'd in a moment years of pain.

O'er her soft cheek consenting blushes move,
And with kind stealth her secret soul betray ;

Blushes, which usher in the morn of love,
Sure as the red'ning east foretells the day.

Her tender smiles shall pay me with delight
For many a bitter pang of jealous fear ;
For many an anxious day, and sleepless night,
For many a stifled sigh, and silent tear.

DELIA shall come, and bless my lone retreat ;
She does not scorn the shepherd's lowly life ;
She will not blush to leave the splendid seat,
And own the title of a poor man's wife.

The simple knot shall bind her gather'd hair,
The russet garment clasp her lovely breast :
DELIA shall mix amongst the rural fair,
By charms alone distinguish'd from the rest.

And meek Simplicity, neglected maid,
Shall bid my fair in native graces shine :
She, only she, shall lend her modest aid,
Chaste, sober priestess, at sweet beauty's shrine !

How sweet to muse by murmuring springs reclin'd ;
Or loitering careless in the shady grove,
Indulge the gentlest feelings of the mind,
And pity those who live to aught but love !

When DELIA's hand unlocks her shining hair,
And o'er her shoulder spreads the flowing gold,
Base were the man who one bright tress would spare
For all the ore of India's coarser mold.

By her dear side with what content I'd toil,
Patient of any labour in her sight ;
Guide the slow plough, or turn the stubborn soil,
Till the last, ling'ring beam of doubtful light.

But softer tasks divide my DELIA's hours ;
To watch the firstlings at their harmless play ;
With welcome shade to screen the languid flowers,
That sicken in the summer's parching ray.

Oft will she stoop amidst her evening walk,
With tender hand each bruised plant to rear ;
To bind the drooping lily's broken stalk,
And nurse the blossoms of the infant year.

When beating rains forbid our feet to roam,
We'll shelter'd sit, and turn the storied page ;
There see what passions shake the lofty dome
With mad ambition or ungovern'd rage :

What headlong ruin oft involves the great ;
What conscious terrors guilty bosoms prove ;
What strange and sudden turns of adverse fate
Tear the sad ****** from her plighted love.

DELIA shall read, and drop a gentle tear ;
Then cast her eyes around the low-roof'd cot,
And own the fates have dealt more kindly here,
That blest with only love our little lot.

For love has sworn (I heard the awful vow)
The wav'ring heart shall never be his care,
That stoops at any baser shrine to bow :
And what he cannot rule, he scorns to share.

My heart in DELIA is so fully blest,
It has not room to lodge another joy ;
My peace all leans upon that gentle breast,
And only there misfortune can annoy.

Our silent hours shall steal unmark'd away
In one long tender calm of rural peace ;
And measure many a fair unblemish'd day
Of chearful leisure and poetic ease.

The proud unfeeling world their lot shall scorn
Who 'midst inglorious shades can poorly dwell :
Yet if some youth, for gentler passions born,
Shall chance to wander near our lowly cell,

His feeling breast with purer flames shall glow ;
And leaving pomp, and state, and cares behind,
Shall own the world has little to bestow
Where two fond hearts in equal love are join'd.
Terry Collett Dec 2015
Chrissie dried after her bath,
towelled under arms and legs,
a radio played from the other room,

cello sonatas, Bach,
Delia listened,
played a pretend cello

drawing an invisible bow
across invisible strings,
she'd played this that time

to that music teacher at college
before having her(sexually)
in her student bed,

Chrissie dried between thighs,
eyed her mirrored self,
plumpish, pink of skin,

love bites where Delia
had ****** and ******,
Delia drew the bow slower

as the music slowed,
head to one side,
invisible cello

between opened thighs,
smiled, the woman
her father hired

to care for her
at term breaks
from boarding school,

Delia has seduced
and bedded in the first
Easter term,

Chrissie dried
between toes and feet,
towelled a final area

of skin, stood,
washed out the bath,
the Bach flowed on,

cello sounds,
recalling Delia moving
over her body like a snake,

tonguing over and over,
Delia closed her eyes,
the cello stilled,

invisible bow
blown away
like leaves in wind,

she lay back
and waited for Chrissie
to return, bathed,

dried wanting her
*** to heat
and burn.