#simpatico
a level of compatibility that is
distinguished and ascertainablw,
it is so so more than
finishing each other’s sentences,
it is answering them, before
they are next to be spoken,
inducting a wondrous expression
that is a potpourri of amaze,
a beloving of how, never why,
a growling tender from back of
the throat, that speaks of come
hither, and a challenge, tell me
what I’m thinking, whispering
come ever closer,
all par for the early moments of
just awoken eye rubbing confusion,
we skip the hello’s and proceed
direct to my beloved, that never
grows yellowing just mellowing
after nearly two
decades
she offers me breakfast choices
well advertised, in a different
order, thinking I won’t notice,
which I pretend they are entirely
nouveau, weighing the merits of
each before, of approving
a ritualistic only love poem of her
composing, though she reminds
lunch will be five ounces of onion
coated, cream cheese whipped,
and an assortment of fish from
the North Atlantic,
ergo, she is saying
go my
darling within your constraints,
for she knows the side to side
head shakes
my evaluation and stil
agress agrees,
that I will bring but, another ember
long last heating and she rewards
my decision with knotted nods of
a certifying agreement, that my right
role of agreer-in-chief, has made a
wiser kinder correct(ed) contribution
Dec 19, 2024
Dec 19, 2024 at 6:34 AM UTC
*Cure me within the seize
of artistic rapture
capturing human spirit in
boundless creativity,
lay 'pon my ******* a sonata
written of affection's simpatico,
whisper me a sonnet
scripted 'neath my skin,
soar me to limitless grandeur
elevated beyond cloud vapors,
beckoning rhythmical renditions of
abstract layers in love, splendor & art,
amidst the harmony and lavish
poetry of a soulful heart*
Jul 15, 2015
Jul 15, 2015 at 7:54 AM UTC
She smiled, those eyes of greeting,
Doors opened with moving breeze,
I entered the drawing room, amused
As I crept with creeks from the hard
Wood floors at the foot of the stairs,
Throughout her abode, finery draped
And sheer linens played with the sun
Round her body. We drew the curtains
That led the light and waited for dark,
A kettle broke in and filled our cups
By the bay windows that burst, pierced
Into her lovely gardens, we had some
Tea and talked of travels and seasons
Huddled in the glassy mirror of nook,
Of her white conservatory, at the table
Already made with silver and crystal
And song birds sang in the open airs.
Nov 28, 2014
Nov 28, 2014 at 9:05 PM UTC