As we sailed the fast river of Rhône
the steady sun bleached it a sparkling gold
like the treasures of Caesar’s kingdom

A curtain of fawn-silken tackle, shaded
back the fervidly garish star scatter,
and cooling flower-scented airs tickled
the senses like touching down-soft silk

"zhuang hong zhuang sheng" (Chinese)
“Put on airs’ - Peter and I are Gatsby gilded.
Why not dress - on luminous forenoons?

Pick a heart, any heart and ***** it, sharply,
with the sight of a handsome man.
I yet breathless, breathe

What weapon is sharper than libido?

I defend myself, with fashion’s sartorial sparkle.
Frankly, I was hoping for something passively ******,
you know, foment a false perception - dazzle
with fancy outwork to tip the cosmic balance

Men will witness what they believe
.
.
song for this:
Desperately Trying by Club des Belugas, Anna Luca

10p.0615

When the hate  she expressed
Was in honesty’s name,
When she doubled down on lies,
Her excuse was the same.
I was there with my finger,
On the pulse and the blame,
But I am not cruel,
And she is not your shame.

That night you tried more,
Smoking, late, on the bed,
And the things you had done,
Were just as she’d said,
When the ashtray came down,
It was inches from your head.
But,
When Fall came and went,
You two were still wed.

You were not promised wealth,
Not one measure of fame,
You said life wasn’t fair,
Because you see it as a game.
Now, the last time we’d speak,
You’d be cursing my name,
But,
I am not cruel.
You will never be the same.

Silky
smoke, with a hint
of leather - succulent
spice from the cigar teases my
palette

As the ivy meets the water on the ancient crumbled wall,
So the water laps and kisses through the beauty of it all.
On the Rhine by the bridges where the flags drape from the lips.
And we float down the river with the water to our hips.

Couples watch as we pass, deep in awe and lost in love,
As the ducks pass in the water and the swans fly above.
Then the sun sets in Basel on a warming Swiss eve,
And I weep for the morning, for tomorrow we must leave.

Waking up to the city sounds,
I now realize it changed,
That feeling of small town you gave,
With the modern touch I felt.

Sweet, small village,
You had your way to sweeten my stay,
Your corners, the hills, the bench,
Write a story in my head.
I'll visit some day.
To re-live my stay.

I'll close my eyes to feel what I felt.
Sweet feeling is all I can say.
Geneva, please never change.