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Terry Collett Oct 2019
Sonya placed a cherry
in her belly button
as she lay naked
on the bed

Do you want
my cherry?
she asked
or have you other
fruit in mind?

Eve tempted Adam
with an apple
so legend has it
I said
gazing at her lying
on the bed

outside our hotel room
with the window open
we could hear Paris
passing the window

but a cherry
is more intimate
she said smiling

Usually one has fruit
after the main course
I said
however tempting
the sweet afterwards

she looked at me
then picked up the cherry
and seductively
put it in her open mouth
and ate it slowly

So where
shall we eat?
she said

Maybe where
Picasso ate
or Degas
I said

And where is that?
she said

We'll ask
I said

Are you sure
you don't
want a cherry?
she said

I declined
and she dressed
and we went out
in the Paris street
and dined.
Terry Collett Mar 2018
We did the Eiffel Tower,
the galleries, the Cathedral;
drank and ate at the bars

or restaurants, saw and
listened to recitals of Ravel
or Chopin, made love in

that cheap Parisian hotel
in the uncomfortable bed,
read our books, argued

our philosophies cheek
and jowl, she her Kierkegaard
and me my Schopenhauer

until the cool early hours.
The quiet moments, books
set aside, arguments paused,

she lying there seductively,
murmuring me on, the small
radio pushing out some French

dame singing, and I *******,
perusing her beauty lying there,
her soft fruits, fresh and fine

and waiting for me there.
Terry Collett Mar 2018
He closed the Dostoyevsky book;
she shut the romantic novel
leaving the characters just
meeting at a party.

The Parisian street lights
were on outside the window
of their cheap hotel.

She suggested they go
to their usual restaurant
for dinner, then go see
the opera.

He liked the waitresses
at the restaurant
with their tight black skirts
and white blouses.

He hoped it wasn't
Bizet's opera; he preferred
Wagner or Pucinni.

She went to get dressed
(she had lain naked
after the *** earlier.)

He changed into his blue suit
and white shirt and tie.

She came in
and tidied up the bed.

He watched her
as she moved
and moaned.

She gazed at him
all neat and tidy
in his blue suit and tie.

He liked the red dressed
she wore with its
tight fit and figure
capturing cloth.

They went out
into the warm evening air
and busy streets.

He carried the image
of her naked in his head.

She left all that
behind between sheets
on the made up bed.
Terry Collett Sep 2017
Sonya talks about the Monets
they have seen
about the rain they got caught in afterwards
and how they ran for the nearest shelter
and how they laughed
and others thought them mad.

Benny thinks about the waitress
in the Parisian cafe
who served them lattes and cream cakes
how the waitress smiled at him
and how her hips swayed
as she moved away
how he could imagine her
embraced in his arms.

Tonight Sonya says
we're to see the string quartet
play Bartok quartets.

He nods and smiles
and have dinner after
in the restaurant we like
he replies
taking in her eyes.

He preferred the Van Goghs to the Monets
and that line at the back
of the waitress's stockings
all the way up and out of sight.

She talks about that horrible fish meal
they had the other day.

He listens to the Mozart sonata on the radio
in their room in the cheap hotel
as Sonya undresses out of her wet clothes.

He imagines it is the French waitress
preparing for him removing clothing piece by piece
the Mozart is done
and a moment of peace.
couple in paris 1973
Terry Collett Sep 2017
Sonya sleeps. She sleeps
like a child, mouth slightly
open, thumb on her lower lip.

Benny watches her as he stands
at the window, looking at her
her body, how it lies there in

a fetal fashion. Last night they
made love a couple of times.
Each time like a first time ever.

Sometimes they have made love
and it seemed after as if they never.
He sips the coffee he has made,

looks away from her, looks out
at the Parisian street below. People
walk past going to a job or shopping

or to meet a lover or mind a child.
He looks at the buildings opposite;
they have balconies, French balconies.

3O years ago Nazis were probably
riding these streets, probably looking
for Jews or thinking of home, or ***

or food or drink. Sonya turns over;
her body now stretched out, her neat
***** resting under the covers.

He loves her; they are lovers.
Terry Collett Aug 2017
I look out
on the Parisian street.

Sonya is in the shower
showering away
our *** juices.  

It's a fresh morning
I can smell life
and Sonya's scent
which occupies
the hotel room.

We are going
to  the Louvre today
see some art
eat in some cafe
and drink
in a few bars
then back here
for more ***.

Sounds like a good day
traffic passes below
people going about
their business.

A pretty woman
goes past
neat legs
swaying ***
dark hair flowing
as she walks.

Some French man
talks on the radio.

I look back
at the rumpled bed
a battlefield of pleasure.

My stomach rumbles
with hunger
we'll go to
some cafe nearby
have breakfast
and coffee
and listen
to the music
that oozes
from speakers.

Sonya comes out
of the shower
wrapped in
a big white towel.

I wish
I was that towel
wrapped about her
touching the intimate
parts of her.

Your turn now
she says
and don't be long.

I nod
and take my towel
and go into
the shower room.

She sings softly
some French song.
Terry Collett Jul 2017
Arrived at the Hotel Napoleon.

Sonya unpacks; the concierge
pale looking unsmiling, showed
us our room. I look out the window
on to the Parisian street below.

Sonya begins to sing an aria;
she always sings an aria when
she is happy, usually a Mozart.

I have unpacked already: one
armful into a drawer. She sorts
each item into an appropriate drawer.

I move from the window and lie
on the bed, trying it out for later.

She moves with slow deliberation,
from suitcase to drawer, each item
placed into the drawer as if they
were babies into a crib. She has
a lovely figure. The aria stops.

She turns and looks at me:
Pas encore de sexe, she says
in her neat French. Mange d'abord,
I reply, eyeing her her fine features,  
her soft ******* and o so much more.
Terry Collett Jul 2017
Miss Pinkie stood
at the open window
of her apartment
looking out
at the night sky.

I lay in her bed
watching her
naked form.

We had made love
an hour before.

Can't sleep?
I said.

Too hot to sleep
she said.

I watched her
49 year old body
she was my senior
by 19 years.

Her hair dyed blonde
was over her shoulders.

Mahler's 1st symphony
was playing softly
on her radio.

Does your mother
know you come here?
She asked.

Yes of course
I said
but not what
I do here.

She turned
and looked at me
come see
these stars
she said.

I got out of bed
and walked over
and stood beside her
at the window.

She named
the constellation of stars
pointing them out
with her plump finger.

Pascal said
the eternal silence
of infinite space
filled him with dread
I said.

Who's Pascal?
she said
one of your
intellectual friends?

No he was
a French philosopher
I think
I said.

Beautiful though
she said
I love night watching.

We stood watching
the sky
a while
then returned to bed
and made love again.

The Mahler
symphony ended
then came the rain.
Terry Collett Jul 2017
Kiss kiss kiss
she squirmed
with delight
as my lips
touched her flesh.

She held me close
her arms about me.

Kiss kiss kiss
she opened
her mouth
fish out
of water mode
eyes closed
in my ear
more more dear.

Kiss kiss kiss
she opened to me
like a flower
at dawn's light
and heat
of the sun
come come come
she breathed.

I entered
like an angel
into Heaven
her wings wide.

Over her shoulder
world's burnt out
and died
and floods rose
and the snake's hiss
kiss kiss kiss.
Terry Collett Jun 2017
Benny will you put
down the book
Sonya said.

I looked at her
blonde hair tied
in a ponytail
blue eyes
gazing at me.

I put down
the book
I'd been reading.

If we're going out
we need to get ready
she said.

I am ready
I said.

I'm not
need to sort
myself out
she disappeared
in the bathroom.

I heard water flowing
was she showering now?
why tell me
about reading my book?
she'd started showering

I went to the bed
took up my book
read on
where I left off.

She was singing
in the shower.

I could have
joined her
we could have
washed each
other over.

She was singing
some Mozart aria.

The sky from
the open window
of our Parisian room
was blue.

We'd made
love earlier
to the passing
noise of traffic
and people below
in the street.

I wished
I was in
the shower
with her
kissing her
from her long
blonde hair
to her slim feet.
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