#1973
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.
Oct 7, 2019
Oct 7, 2019 at 1:51 PM UTC
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.
Mar 17, 2018
Mar 17, 2018 at 1:55 PM UTC
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.
Mar 5, 2018
Mar 5, 2018 at 12:04 PM UTC
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.
Sep 19, 2017
Sep 19, 2017 at 3:36 AM UTC
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.
Sep 2, 2017
Sep 2, 2017 at 3:56 AM UTC
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.
Aug 2, 2017
Aug 2, 2017 at 4:09 AM UTC
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.
Jul 20, 2017
Jul 20, 2017 at 1:02 PM UTC
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.
Jul 10, 2017
Jul 10, 2017 at 1:28 PM UTC
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
whispered
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.
Jul 7, 2017
Jul 7, 2017 at 1:10 PM UTC
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.
Jun 4, 2017
Jun 4, 2017 at 10:18 AM UTC
I read to him
from Kierkegaard
he read Dostoevsky.
We lay on the bed
in our Parisian room
in that cheap hotel.
We had the narrow window
open to the evening
smells and sounds.
We are going out later
for a meal and drinks
soak in the atmosphere
the art
the lives
the history.
We made love
some hour ago
still there
that after glow.
We played
our *** games
that ****** foreplay.
I close
the Kierkegaard book
Benny shuts
the Dostoevsky
with a smile.
Best get ready
I say
into something cool.
He nods at me
and lies there
eyeing me
as I undress
piece by piece.
I go into
the shower.
I guess he's
listening
to the water run
imaging me
in his mind
having his
own inner fun.
May 10, 2017
May 10, 2017 at 3:37 AM UTC
Parisian summer
I had showered and shaved
except for the moustache
which I kept.
Felt tired
although I slept.
Sonya was
by the window
looking out
at the Paris
street below
from our cheap
hotel room.
The Solzhenitsyn book
lay face down
on the bed
I decided to read
the Dostoevsky book
instead.
She smoked
hand holding
an elbow.
I dried myself
viewing her
fine figure
her behind quite neat
naked feet.
Think of all those
famous people who
lived here in Paris
she said.
Henry Miller
Ezra pound
Joyce and those
great artists
and even ******
came briefly
so I read.
Now all
of them dead
she said.
Now we are here
I said
just ordinary folk
who like to dine
and wine and kiss
and poke and joke.
That waiter
last night
in that restaurant
he eyed me
ever so much
she said.
Guess he did
I said
but what's in that
he probably eyes
all the dames
that come and go
then goes home
to his lonely room
and lonely life
or ugly wife.
Guess so
she said
walking back
to the bed
and lying down
stubbing out
her cigarette
in the ashtray
by the bed.
Shall we before
we go out?
she said.
So I lay
beside her
and it was
a Parisian summer.
The room was small
and bed hard
but we did
before we went out
cars hooted
people called
or gave shout.
Apr 26, 2017
Apr 26, 2017 at 12:20 PM UTC
I lay beside
Miss Pinkie
in her bed
in her flat.
It was morning
someone
was vacuuming
in the flat upstairs
footsteps back
and forth.
There was a sliver
of daylight
where her curtains
didn't meet.
I turned over
and gazed
at her sleeping
eyes closed
eyelids like pink
seashells.
Her mouth open
breathing shallow.
She was old enough
to be my mother
just about.
Her hair
was in a mess
not neat
as it usually was.
We'd made love
a few times in
the late evening
and night
it wasn't hot ***
but it was all right.
She said
she'd entered
a convent
with her cousin
when they were 18
she left
but her
cousin stayed.
Seemed a bit *****
sleeping
with an ex-nun
wonder what
the bishop
would say
if he could see
how she lay
I mused.
My mouth was dry
I needed a drink
to wake me up
for real.
She opened
her eyes
and stared at me.
Her hand wandering
back towards me
wanting to feel.
Apr 26, 2017
Apr 26, 2017 at 3:24 AM UTC
Viva la France
Sonya said drunkenly
as we ascended the stairs
to our small room
in the cheap hotel
in Montparnasse.
She swayed at the top
of the stairs outside
our narrow room door.
I love Paris
she said
and tried to put
the key in the keyhole.
Why does it not fit?
she said.
Here let me
I said
and took the key
and opened the door.
She went in
and I followed.
We'd been arguing
in the cafe about philosophy
she and her Kierkegaard
and me picking holes in it
and pushing
my mixed up Marxism.
She flopped on the bed
arms wide
I WANT TO MAKE LOVE
she said loudly.
The windows open
the curtains flapping
in the evening air.
I guess most of Paris
can know that now
I said
looking down
on the narrow
street below
the Rue something
or other.
Come here
now to me
she said
softer more
seductively
beckoning me
with her finger.
Want another
drink too
she said.
I went to the small table
and opened
the bottle of wine
we had and poured
her a glass for us both
and handed her one.
She gulped it down
that is better
she said.
I sipped mine
and gazed at her
lying there.
She put the glass
on the bedside table
and lay there.
Undress me
she said gently.
I went over
and began
to undress her
but she went to sleep.
I left her be
and lay beside her
the *** would keep.
Apr 3, 2017
Apr 3, 2017 at 11:54 AM UTC
Miss Pinkie put on
the Puccini arias
(she dropped the Mrs
when her husband
went off with the air
hostess *****
he was working with)
and bought me a scotch
into her lounge.
You what to stay
the night?
She said.
If I can my sister's
got a man friend
staying over and I said
he could have my bed.
She sipped her scotch
and looked at me.
What about
my reputation?
She said.
I can sleep
in the spare bed
I said.
But people might
see you leaving
in the early hours
and still come
to the same conclusion
she said smiling.
Guess they would
I said.
The Tosca aria
was being sung
by some dame.
Do you promise
to be good?
Miss Pinkie said.
Aren't I always?
I said.
She sipped the scotch
mostly so
she said
but you'll have
to leave discretely
can't have you
waltzing out of here
in plain daylight
or the neighbours
will talk.
I will be
as discrete
as I can
I said.
We sipped our drinks
and the La Boheme aria started
this is my favourite
she said looking at me
putting a hand
on my thigh.
Mine too
I said
finishing my *****
She put down
the glasses
and turned to me
and said
you feeling tired?
No not yet
I replied.
Good let's go
to bed then
she said.
So we went
and she turned
out the light
and we walked
to her room
lit up by moonlight
and undressed
and got into bed.
The Puccini arias
still being sung
and Miss Pinkie
sang along in her
soft soprano.
I lay beside her
feeling along her thigh
and she stopped singing
and let out a sigh.
Mar 15, 2017
Mar 15, 2017 at 4:25 AM UTC
Sonya was puking
in the bidet
in the small hotel room
in Paris
after too much
bad *****
Benny lay in bed
reading Dostoevsky.
The radio
was pushing out
Mahler's 6th
her puking played
along side.
Can I help?
he said.
She returned moans
and another round
of puking.
No *** tonight
he mused
putting the book down
and looking towards
the small shower room.
He got off the bed
and went to
the shower room
and opened the door.
Can I be
of any assistance?
he said
looking at her
kneeling there over
the bidet.
She shook her hand
and waved a hand.
He took note
of her lovely legs
her two feet
heels facing
her fine ***
smiling at him.
He went out
and closed the door
and the puking
went on as before.
Mar 6, 2017
Mar 6, 2017 at 3:29 AM UTC
It rained after we left
the Musée d'Orsay
and Sonya and I
had to run for cover.
She looked beautiful
in the rain
(she looked
beautiful anyway).
We stood underneath
a canvas covering
with others,
who also ran for shelter.
How romantic it looks
Paris in the rain,
she said.
I sensed the dampness
sinking through the cloth
of my jacket;
it didn't feel
romantic to me.
I've seen paintings
of Paris in the rain,
I said,
I remember seeing
this pavement artist
chalking a picture of Paris
and the rain came down
and he went
and the picture
became a murkiness
of colour.
The other people
spoke in French.
Nous sommes des touristes,
she said to them.
They nodded and smiled
and looked at me.
Maybe they thought
I looked like that guy
with a beard
in the Renoir painting,
I mused.
Sonya spoke
to them in French
and I watched
her talking;
the curve of her body,
her blonde hair
over her shoulders.
I wished
we were back
in the hotel
in the bed.
Let us go
have a coffee
some place,
she said.
The rain had paused,
so off we went
to find a small cafe;
another Parisian tour
and dull day.
Feb 1, 2017
Feb 1, 2017 at 11:14 AM UTC
And the waiter said
Puis-je vous aider?
You looked at Sonya
who said in fine French
two coffees
and croissants please.
Oui madame
the waiter said.
You watched her features
how she sat
her blonde hair
long and loose
from bands or ribbons.
I love the Renoir print
in the cafe
we went into last night
she said.
You listened
but did not reply.
I could see you
in the man
she added.
Which man?
You said.
The young man
sitting at the table
looking at the girl
and her dog
the man with
the fine moustache
she said.
The one with
the boater hat?
You asked.
Yes that's the one
she said.
And you remember thinking
as you looked at the painting
why put a dog on the table
with food and wine and glasses?
The waiter came
with coffees
and croissants and went off.
Sonya sipped her coffee
you nibbled the croissant
she talked about art
and Renoir.
But you were
only half listening
you were recalling
how beautiful she looked
in bed the night before
her hair spread out
on the pillow
as was she spread
on the double springy
ancient bed.
Dec 30, 2016
Dec 30, 2016 at 3:44 AM UTC
She lies there
on the floor
of our room
in that cheap
small hotel
in Paris.
I wonder
who else has
lain naked
on this floor
wanting ***
in the raw?
Sonya asks.
You look like
a model
for Degas,
I answer.
Come on then
Benedict
don't dither
standing there
like the Pope
at a down
town ****
she tells me.
I undress
taking off
my black jeans,
and tee shirt,
and boxers.
The small white
radio
in the room
oozes out
a Mozart
aria.
Now undressed
I watch her
taking in
her plump fruits
and blonde thatch.
I descend
upon her
and harpoon
her softly
(my well known
party trick),
with my young
Moby ****
Oct 20, 2016
Oct 20, 2016 at 12:09 PM UTC
Sonya loves
Paris streets
white French wine
fresh French food
and our room
with shutters
now open
allowing
sounds of night
to come in
I put down
my Russian
crime novels
as she lies
naked there
on the bed
some Bartok
on the white
radio
playing out
you ready?
She asks me
lying there
I'm ready
I tell her
turning off
the room light
making do
with street light
entering now
the wide bed
feeling her
beside me
her warm flesh
she kisses
her soft lips
kissing mine
her small hands
seeking out
my pecker
stirring up
the blood line
while my hands
explore her
plentiful
soft ripe fruits
her valleys
her taut peaks
someone speaks
in French tongue
from the white
radio
Bartok's gone
Bach begins
some music
Baroque stuff
we kiss hot
bodies move
to music
sounds invade
our memories
as we start
making love
with streets sounds
and lamp lights
and moon glow
and star shine
and waiting
afterwards
two glasses
with clear ice
of French wine.
Sep 14, 2016
Sep 14, 2016 at 3:40 AM UTC
That Russian
novel read
in Paris
afterwards
with Schubert
being played
on the white
radio
in the cheap
hotel room
Sonya stripped
down to those
skimpy pink
underwear
invites me
to remove
a present
for you to
unwrap and
see what's there
she whispers
I unwrap
her slowly
the ripe fruit
the soft fig
my two lips
watering
come pluck fruit
she whispers
plough my deep
soft valley
sensuous
apricots
Schubert plays
in the air
Paris sounds
filter in
from the wide
open window
as I plough
and pluck fruit
and kiss her
sweet soft fig
come on man
she mutters
in my ear
with hot breath
dig dig dig.
Aug 9, 2016
Aug 9, 2016 at 3:38 AM UTC
Our Paris
still in minds
as Sonya
and I lay
in our bed
in that cheap
hotel room
French music
from the white
radio
playing out
to the room
she lay there
opening up
her flower
sweet scented
that waitress
Sonya said
swayed her ***
just for you
I am sure
I doubt it
just the way
she walked there
(maybe it
was for me
that I hoped)
if you say
Sonya said
some dame sang
some Mozart
on the white
radio
Sonya knew
so she sang
along too
I gardened
her flower
sweet scented
some Mozart
aria
in my ears
as we sexed
her flower
in the cool
late dark hour.
Jul 20, 2016
Jul 20, 2016 at 3:03 AM UTC
Sonya said
that cafe
in that street
in Paris
where we sat
last evening
were playing
Charles Trenet's
song La Mer
I recalled
the waitress
with the cute
swaying ***
reminds me
of my youth
Sonya said
my father
sang to me
on his lap
I kissed her
abdomen
soft wet lips
on warm skin
on Sonya
not on that
French waitress
then lower
on her fig
which we named
the bed creaked
in our room
in that cheap
hotel room
as she sang
La Mer soft
in my ear
as I moved
my *****
into gear.
Jun 20, 2016
Jun 20, 2016 at 1:48 AM UTC
Some dame sang
on the old
radio
a Verdi
aria
Sonya lay
on the bed
reading Kant
I showered
listening
to Verdi
filtering
through to me
through water
gushing down
how Sonya
could read Kant
after ***
I wondered
washing down
young Percy
my pecker
then Sonya
sang along
the Verdi
aria
I hummed some
Sinatra
melody
to contrast
the Verdi
recalling
entering
Sonya's fruit
in the bed
while Mozart's
aria
vibrated
in my head.
May 17, 2016
May 17, 2016 at 3:17 PM UTC
I brought scotch
to her flat
(Miss Pinkie)
late evening
no TV
but music
on her old
boxed hi-fi
Mahler's 1st
or his 5th
then she'd sit
next to me
on the couch
lights dimmed low
she made up
hair done nice
with a short
nightie on
and she'd say
now Benny
how about
you and me
getting down
this whiskey
a few chocs
then have some
real hot ***
We added
a few more
good whiskies
some dark chocs
more Mahler
then we'd walk
to her bed
(big double)
and strip off
and climb in
or fall in
a bright moon
shining in
from the sky
a train passed
on the track
quite nearby
Mahler played
the final
loud movement
as we made
our prelude
or foreplay
little games
before ***
then the ***
then lying
on our backs
as Mahler
was silent
and trains gone
faraway
and moon shone.
Mar 29, 2016
Mar 29, 2016 at 3:01 AM UTC