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Jenny Gordon Jul 2017
He told me flat out that he owns me.  Some later date I'll parse that happiness out, I guess.

(sonnet #MMMMMMDIV)

These faded blue skies like to denim, whence
I cull a refrence to "old glory," t'hail
That pick-up with the flag 'non waving, hale
Against whichever backdrop in defense
Of liberty, look placid in a sense;
My voice hoarse from oh, singing's tale,
Cuz Joey plays the drums and when in frail
'Scuse I said I'd sing while he did--what hence?
He said I could sing anytime as twere
For him, and being late worried oer him too,
Cuz he'd download some virus, I sang fer
Relief, oer dinner dishes 'til nigh through;
And lo, when done and listless, what in pure
Yes, mercy?! but he'd call.  I love him too.

17Jul17b it funny words seem to fail me lately?  HIS.  I never knew what I was talking about, but I sure love it.
Jenny Gordon Jul 2017
He said I'm a good kisser.  ducks head

(sonnet #MMMMMMDI)

His.  O, I wanted Joe to call me his, in pale
Excuse, and yes, to call him MINE.  What hence?
But lo, I am.  He's like a dream come true, a sense
Of all a girl wants in his sweetness, frail
As fancies ever were.  Why, in betrayl?
To top it off, yes...what?  but kissing thence
Is nat'ral, being in his arms like ah, whence?
Two puzzle pieces fitting in detail.
If I said "he is home to me as twere,"
Would all I've tasted then dissolve unto
Some naked shore the waves crash into fer
An endless washing of all that we knew?
He sez that love (in all caps) is too poor.
My legs and lips are what he wants.  What's new?

My mother (when I was 14) begging me to save my kisses for the man who'd marry me, yes, he is the first since grade school and playing house with the neighbor boy.  If this is the fun she alluded to, I'll never have my fill.
Jenny Gordon Jul 2017
Haha, it's funny looking at this now.  L8:  that little email, oh my.


Where midnight'd feign a silence 'til I'd thence
Roll back the covers to at last avail
Me of lying down for good, ah how the pale
Eye of that moon rose twixt those treetops' dense
Black lacework, shivring in a keener sense.
Although we knew twas folly to detail
Aught, how I sent my Joey, like to scale,
Notes on whatever, to shrink from it hence.
Or, no.  I squinted as it peered as twere
At me, the ghastly calm fit for sweet dew,
And rose when dawn's first shafts began to stir.
What are the dreams long since forgot as due?
For if I shrink from building castles your
Sweet intrest culls, will that make all come true?

His note...that handwritten thing you treasure forever, oh when he finally answered that email of mine...what was it Nathan said about communication?

— The End —