"solicitous" poems
A horror movie scene as the heroine escapes.
Everything is still besides her convalescing breath and the distant, chasing wind.
Not a noise is heard except the fall leave's rattle and the birch wood's moaning bark in the moonlight.
Her body slouches into the protection of a lone shed, and shrouds itself in the aroma of cut grass.
A tense brow relieves and tired eyes close, thankful to receive the momentary peace.
A possible misstep turns the wary peace on end with the jagged cut of broken leaves. The once relieved brow now concedes surprise as wild eyes are cast towards an opaque barricade.
Sly pieces of garden equipment leash a weathered jacket in place as she attempts to stand.
A cackle is heard, a shriek undone.
To spite the brittle wood, the formulaic jump-scare-skeleton-hand bursts through the shed's solicitous walls, set to declare the last of a weary soul as his own.
The wind catches up and spearheads any hole it can find.
It begins whistling around the dim room like a tornado elated to havoc behind a castle's walls.
The tree bark howls, the leaves, now delight.
We learn there is no reprieve for a begging champion.
The camera backs out of the splintered hole, and pans over a silhouetted forest to face the waning moon.
The hero succumbs with muted screams to a gore far below and out of frame.
Our only closure, a black screen, with bright white letters, slowly scrolling up.
The end.
Jul 24, 2018
Jul 24, 2018 at 10:52 PM UTC
Piggies dancing, floating along narrow passages towards what they hope is their ends. Their means have been stolen and packaged and sold by big suited, corporate, handy-handy machines. They eat piggies every day and love it, love it, love it down their gullet.
They are not worth a mention yet they get it, they want nothing but your attention, they don’t need it yet they get it. Their appetites are insatiable and contagious, they use it against us by showing us how we are nothing but what they are and we are fools enough to take it as Truth.
Shame.
We have shame because they debase us and hence debase themselves.
We have shame because we see their debasement and yet powerlessness is in our bones.
We have shame because all we want is not all we get and nowhere near all we deserve,
-it measures much lower.
It is irrelevant, it is biased, it is useless, IT is un-real-(UnRealistic, UnRelated, UnTrue)
Lie.
If my breath stinks or my hair is greasy or my cloths ***** my teeth yellowed, my feet smelly, my nails long, my social life quiet and solicitous- will you discern a negativity in my human-ness? We are no villains. We hate only those who would have us believe that we must hate ourselves and each other. They are no beasts like us. The animal within, encased by a carapace of Humanity glued and mortared by self-centered ideologies gets too thick and you must break it by looking at yourself. ******** and ******* and spitting and grunting and moaning in ecstasy and pain.
Repeat after me and say it loud with beastly yell “ I am a ********* beautiful Animal!”
Jan 25, 2013
Jan 25, 2013 at 7:07 PM UTC
Three days, is what the HR rep said, somewhat sheepishly,
As if she was fully aware that boxing up one’s grief
In a span of a few dozen hours
Is a matter of wishful thinking
And certainly she sympathizes
(Indeed, as she speaks,
She spreads her hands in such a way
As you half expect doves to come forth in full flight)
Empathy being their stock in trade,
But the law and the handbook say three days,
And then you need to have your head
******* back on and looking forward.
Eventually, the mail brings fewer envelopes
Marked with embossed flowers
And subdued and tasteful stamps,
The usual flow of solicitous inquiries,
Pre-stamped and pre-sorted,
Inquiring as to your credit needs,
The condition of your windows and siding,
Resumes apace, and more than once,
In fits of inappropriate black humor and frustration,
You scribble, in bold thick strokes of a marker,
The addressee no longer resides at this location.
You return to nine-to-five,
Though your ghosts keep their own hours,
Stopping by to visit on their own schedule alone,
Prompted by the tiniest of things:
The dog scampering to its feet in a hurry,
As if someone was at the door,
The discovery of a long-unused pitching wedge
Standing expectantly in the back of the closet,
A song from long ago which was beloved
When you lived in the pairing mandated by Noah
Before you entered the shadow world of ones and nones.
Sometimes you give into the giddy madness,
And rise to waltz around the room,
Careening about unsteadily, clumsily
As you have yet to completely master
The difference in weight shift and distribution
That is required of a solo act.
The timing of these visitations
Often disrupts your schedule and sleep patterns,
And you think that perhaps tomorrow you’ll call in.
Nov 28, 2017
Nov 28, 2017 at 10:38 AM UTC
there was the sun.
brighter than anyone could believe,
passionate with its fire.
and the moon.
a sentimental romantic,
with a wild shimmer.
the moon lusted the luminescent brilliance of the day,
the sun fell for the vivacious spark of night,
and soon the two fell deeply in love.
now the sun had a fate,
a generational inevitability,
of an almighty “solar eclipse.”
solicitous about the phase to come,
as the vibrant colors of blood red
occupied their minds
fret none, said the sun,
for i rise and set for you, my dear,
perhaps the “solar eclipse” may not transpire at all.
but it did.
and the moon did nothing but stand in the way,
as the sun relished in the luminescent glory.
and just like any crossing of paths,
the eclipse came to an end,
and they went their separate ways.
May 24, 2016
May 24, 2016 at 8:48 AM UTC
The Sun shines on my computer
Creating a protective glare
But night comes like an intruder
At pictures I begin to stare
After I view their portrait online
I want to see their body on mine
We talk all night
Until I see the light
That they're not that bright
Or that they like to fight
Desperation swirls
I enter a world
Where the randomness of human interaction
Meets the randomness of my attraction
And the low visibility
Endears no civility
Will I spend infinity
In this digital city?
The creatures try to hide
They scatter in the distance
They're not hard to find
When their profiles leave imprints
But the parasites are quick
And the scavengers stick
Vultures fly from iPad to iPhone
Leeches try to make my pad their home
Devouring me until I'm bad to the bone
Like the solicitous predators
Who act like creditors
And the sly foxes
Who claim they're locksmiths
They all have claws and fangs
They're all just jaws with brains
I play possum
Until I've lost them
When monsters are made from loneliness
They try to trick me with phoniness
They feel I wouldn't want us to be together
And they're probably right
Because all I want is to spend forever
In love's divine light
Nocturnal animals just want the meal
Of my motion
They don't want to honestly feel
My devotion
In the wild
I am a child
The creatures cut deep
They make me weep
Until I choose to sleep
But when I avoid their glance
I avoid love's chance
Oct 17, 2017
Oct 17, 2017 at 4:39 AM UTC
Those envied places which do know her well,
And are so scornful of this lonely place,
Even now for once are emptied of her grace:
Nowhere but here she is: and while Love’s spell
From his predominant presence doth compel
All alien hours, an outworn populace,
The hours of Love fill full the echoing space
With sweet confederate music favourable.
Now many memories make solicitous
The delicate love-lines of her mouth, till, lit
With quivering fire, the words take wing from it;
As here between our kisses we sit thus
Speaking of things remembered, and so sit
Speechless while things forgotten call to us.
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You are my dragon
You are my imaginary friend
You are my love-light
You are my heart beats end
You are the window to my soul
When my smile wants to
Descend
You lift me up
You shower light
From above me and below
Your dragon fire of love
Ignites my soul
Again
You are my unicorn
You are my buried treasure
You are the thing
Everyone says that
Does not exist
I feel you in my veins
I feel your tender bliss
I know your magic kiss
Never solicitous
Even when they say
You don't exist
We are stars
Communicating with each other
You are my sister
You are my brother
My Sacred father
Our Divine Mother
When I am asked
How do you know
Prove your higher power lives
I wonder how, I wonder if
People truly know what
Love is
I have never had to prove
The love that I feel
The way that your light
Can heal
Your touch
The chills that rush
Around my everything
My temple heart
My body's Internet
As I connect with
Lightworkers here on earth
We reach out to understand our birth
Together we experience
Your unforgettable worth
For without this light
I could not fight
My warrior heart would
Fall apart
And
Die
You are my strength from within
That is why
You are my dragon
You are my imaginary friend
You are my love-light
You are my heart beats end
You are the window to my soul
When my smile wants to
Descend
You lift me up
You shower light
From above me and below
Your dragon fire of love
Ignites my soul
Again
And
Again
I don't have to win
I could never lose
I want to share your love
But we all have to choose
To see it on our own
To feel it in our blood
To make in you
A home
My Phoenix rising
When I think of what you created
The connections that we have
The starlight between us
The way that you guide us
The way that you lead us
I know we are only as far
Away from one another
As the next star
I sat on the beach
Trying to reach you
Earnest in my heart
Was my prayer
To feel you there
To stare
I looked to the heavens
My eyes married the sky
I watched as electricity
Vibrated and waved
Between each starlight
Stars, your creation
Just as we are
Your worldwide
Love destination
The stars shine together well
Let this be our magic
Let this be our spell
When we look into the night
Let this be a mirror for living
A way for us to understand
That we too can be giving
To each other
Shining light all around
One another
My neighbor
My sister
My landlord
My brother
Animals
Our Fathers
And our
Mothers
You make me proud
To be a star for you
With you
I am also a tree
I'm a bird
We are free
I am the song in your hands
Your favorite love letter
Your favorite note
Every word that you spoke
I am written on
The universe in your
Temple heart
And you are
By far
My earth
My wind
My water
You are
My fire
You are
My eternal breath of life
My dragon
You are my imaginary friend
You are my love-light
You are my heart beats end
You are the window to my soul
When my smile wants to
Descend
You lift me up
You shower light
From above me and below
Your dragon fire of love
Ignites my soul
Again
And
Again
And
Again
I believe
tHE tERRY tREE
Nov 2, 2014
Nov 2, 2014 at 5:29 PM UTC
Blessed with matchlessly magical Parents,
Their supremely good, serenely happy raising,
design our thought processes.
Their loving, comforting storytelling skills,
leave indelible footprints and heartprints.
Thankyou God for this Benedictory Love!!!
Blessed with a bombastic Brother,
self-styled natural, perennial itinerant,
Sentinel of sisters life-long.
Sentiments flow unabatedly,
for our illustrious, boisterous beloved younger.
Thankyou God for this Blissful Love!!!
Blessed with delicate darling Sister,
who wears expressions benignant perpetually.
Wiitty, gritty, easy-going habitually.
Evident protected favourite of all surely.
Fondest moments born in her queenly company.
Thankyou God for this Harmonious Love!!!
Blessed with solicitous Husband,
His silent romanticism, macho protective ways,
smoothen tumultuous paths.
Terribly correct and sober better half,
Brokers peace, plots life's happiness graph.
Thankyou God for this Angelic Love!!!
Blessed with an endearing Child,
Whose arrival, auspicious, momentous and miraculous, Rearing the divine and sublime born,
definitely, a definition for the guardians.
Our child, our panacea, promise of better tomorrows.
Thankyou God for this Supreme Love!!!
Oct 1, 2020
Oct 1, 2020 at 2:06 AM UTC
Im going to pretend
(I'm going to
try) that
all I see isn't
wasn't
could not have been
me, or else I will surely
drive myself to [solicitous]
insanity
Jan 6, 2014
Jan 6, 2014 at 11:18 PM UTC
A girl sitting at the table next
restless, was slyly eyeing his pie,
kind of cute, like in childhood
it sure was, yet seemed a ploy
to gatecrash in to his privacy,
and give company, as it pleased her.
"The pie is blackberry if you fancy it ,
I''ll be glad, you can have it all,
I know there is no other left"
He played Mr.Nice guy,solicitous,
but behind that face of his,
was the arrows of light, hitting him,
from those sparkling eyes,
vying with each other, to build up
a halo chamber, almost visible around him!
Blackberry pie is no big deal, of course
he knows a whole hillside with
bushes full of ripe, succulent ones,
any day he could have his fill, raw
or as a flaky crusted pie backed by his mom.
But those sparkling eyes that in a moment
made him build castles in the air
had an electric appeal, he can't ignore.
The offer she said, was irresistible,
not a type she is who snatches,
dainty stuff from someone just bumped in to
"But the way your eyes did glint,
when you looked makes me ask
:haven't we met somewhere before?"
"There is a fickleness in this,love at first sight,
do you need to fall head over heels?"
a little voice within, that has a problem
in such things, kept raising a doubt.
"But without a first sight,there can't be love
may it be fickle, we'll tackle it the way it goes"
replies another,who seems to care for love.
Mar 3, 2016
Mar 3, 2016 at 7:38 AM UTC
Relax, begin to Imagine you are in the proximity
to immerse yourself into a precious moment.
It is that needed time you have brought into being, and is intrinsic
to experience composure, equanimity.
Smooth - melodic - ambient music with simple cause,
low and soft will, in its incipiency invalidate
trending previous troublesome thoughts,
silkily, sauntering, lingeringly pauses,
to softly embrace your audible senses
with silence which conveys complete assurance,
that the here and now is yours, no-one elses,
ataraxia created by you, for your true inner self,
It continues; envelops remaining unsettled interruption
embraces the heart, and encourages serenity,
all the remaining negative, solicitous intellection
are temporarily, tipped out of your consciousness,
you are experiencing them leave, then transcended
with blissful tranquillity for your indulgence.
You are asleep with your eyes open, it feels so benefic,
the mind is calm and clear no longer confused.
Melodious sound continues to provide atmospheric
momentum to this sensibility folding into the soul.
Joyfully you are enduring moments of pure inner solitude and
wrapped in perfect peace, consciousness uncommitted.
There is no expectation of time, not at all
just the psyche drifting, changing shape, density, profundity.
You feel wonderfully restituted, calmed; uplifted.
You sense it, knowing, this absence of tension you sought,
this, your perfect you, is transient and will slowly begin to regress, reluctantly,
relinquishing this blissfully serene, conditioned emotional stillness, to be restored.
Then you turn the telly on! All gone.
Michael C Crowder March 5th 2019
Mar 5, 2019
Mar 5, 2019 at 7:40 AM UTC
Magnets;
lock and key;
and, the unsubtle,
bolt
and *****
These are things that collide harmoniously and do not dispute
We are not such an archaic, mechanized metaphorical construct.
I feel us as primal,
torrid decadence;
a deliberate impassioned vulnerability:
an animalistic exposé.
Unfocused, infinite black holes
expanding
to be lost within
Quivering circle of solicitous, engorged fuchsia
steaming harsh,
needy
attempts of oxygen recovery
Soft powder snow
melting over olive tree trunks,
quaking with endless echoes resonating from beyond the hills above
A thunderous harbinger centers chaos,
rampaging gust-like vibration through taut roots,
a volcanic eruption.
Lava geyser
blazing till all energy
enthralls the earth.
What I see for us is a metaphor in nature.
I will be the seismic activity
and you
will dance above me.
Your world will collapse against me
in my relentless motions.
And when you stand again,
I will bring you to
your knees
in my aftershock
and show you strength that will move you mountains.
Dec 17, 2014
Dec 17, 2014 at 2:27 AM UTC
Jack ropes and merriopes
In solicitous rhyme in fer derilious velope
envy implicitous insectuaryan harridannous
Ensole brodequins forbearing to lace
Trace elements of that remaining empoisonous
For failure interred
Is succes disinterred? And if so, form where?
Where derinferred strands failure unerred
By error masked muscovado coloured Breadth
Pneumonic, perhaps caustically mate
Aerial’d on the glib side of acoustical elimination
Veritable under pooh stick discrimination
Matte clouds of drab depression ove in
An area of low pressure
According to yon hypothalamic forecaster. Core has ter
Fail lently viola lapidavitious stretch so she as
fer ter rousse fer ter kamuskova. An epic
Scribbled on der calen.
Sole of brevity then being approximately an inch and a
Bit minus that
Torrent all yendergelpin cleaving
The very schism wit! It cynicism
Be as may be a pea, no spelling bee entrusted
Where? In there? In that jumble of line?
Barely knows his lime from his rhyme, or indeed
Lime from lime.
He’s just trying to fill up that calendrous space
And make some sense of it.
Dec 23, 2013
Dec 23, 2013 at 3:19 PM UTC
Earth: our ominous all-mother,
she, the greater good:
the interminable fountain out of which stems life and vivacity itself
always reaching
and grasping for the abstruse azure heavens above.
her hair never stops growing. the mites and parasites never cease to fester her scalp. She is growing and changing and rotting and dying. but where death comes, there is no long interval until more
life.
the liveliness is everywhere; it promotes to all faces and regions and niches. Multiplying, begetting, propagating. all for the greater good of our orb and its inhabitants. Most dwellers are humble and solicitous toward her, and learn to keep a vigilant eye
as she can be so
forceful and violent.
She does have, however, one rascal who believes that the globe belongs all to Himself.
He is the man.
He has a masterful gift, yes. He is profound and competent. He forges the impractical query into a conclusive answer. He, however, is also egocentric and pompous, and He sees her as a specimen to which
He has the rights to dismember and pervert.
He makes a mess of her unique vistas. He tramples and stamps on her face, running about as if she were the coliseum in which the gods gather to view the Species fight itself to extinction. He works her to the
core, always asking for more, more, more, more,
until she has little left to give.
But she never loses courage in His asinine and moronic views and His sprawling village,
for she created Him
out of herself
she is the framework out of which the mind is able to mundanely manifest itself.
Without her, He would be nothing.
And she is so immeasurably loving and benevolently caring and forevermore giving; for
She is life, she is love.
We are love.
Feb 13, 2013
Feb 13, 2013 at 9:19 PM UTC
I laid beside thy gate, am Lazarus;
See me or see me not I still am there,
Hungry and thirsty, sore and sick and bare,
Dog-comforted and crumbs-solicitous:
While thou in all thy ways art sumptuous,
Daintily clothed, with dainties for thy fare:
Thus a world's wonder thou art quit of care,
And be I seen or not seen I am thus.
One day a worm for thee, a worm for me:
With my worm angel songs and trumpet burst
And plenitude an end of all desire:
But what for thee, alas! but what for thee?
Fire and an unextinguishable thirst,
Thirst in an unextinguishable fire.
1.3k
solicitous,
the dark squeaks through,
sinks in the holes
in the lungs—the worms
found her too.
appendages of the hands
become mushrooms
grown from the soil of old hysterias
to sate the browning mind,
the eyes no longer do.
in the caricature of her boots,
the prints left in frenzied twos
are auxiliary to the compounds
of blues
that do not do
anymore than the supercilious
breath she left above ground
when she was twenty-two—
latent now in a grave
where the light can’t produce,
but the heart still beats.
Aug 8, 2016
Aug 8, 2016 at 5:35 PM UTC
Zero is not an absolute.
I have seen worlds open inside her circular form--
the expansion and contraction of edges, curved
longings curbed: suppressed then exposed--
everything we've wished for in our beds.
Zero has infinite chance--
ringed and rung out-- sung and restrung
her points connected positive and negative glued and preserved
presorted for our convenience.
There is nothing convenient in the sputter of our silences
we spit and bite, tender nothing
solicitous starvation.
Our sympathetic matter of course.
Zero is not nothing.
She's bigger than comprehension--
compensation
and competition
Zero teaches us:
What alone could be
If we alone, weren't one.
Jan 23, 2010
Jan 23, 2010 at 6:03 PM UTC
From whence do you derive your power,
you mysterious luminary?
You impede my thoughts
leave me gasping for your attention
affection
lust.
I'm too far gone
to resist your touch.
Your selfishness owns me.
Your devious smile beckons,
and though I turn towards the door.
I can't go.
Love.
Oct 19, 2014
Oct 19, 2014 at 11:12 PM UTC
Old lady cradling a baby
make it home
"where did you get this baby " granny
"nursery " the old lady note
Solicitous for baby
she hassle alot .
Her senility got her sick
She was frail as lamp for epoch
Through the window , solos tot
watched her fade away
Fine morning she laid lifeless ,
leaving a note which elucidate
"Care and water this little tree , it will bear my blessings for gen z "
May 24, 2019
May 24, 2019 at 1:39 PM UTC
Loved you when you were broke
Eased you when you were sore.
Existed through all the infliction
To make you an addiction.
Too solicitous to behold you
Well that’s the path I’ve travelled through.
Endured enough with utmost tolerance
That I Can ever take your absence.
Feb 23, 2019
Feb 23, 2019 at 12:27 PM UTC
Rain is stampeding your car, a misty haze indulging the sky
eating the buildings, and the neon lights
break with every misspoken word
that fumbles off my lips
But your silence is solicitous
because you know how it feels to love
and to be unrelenting with this dedication
but it is futile because just like the neon lights
it crumbles and burns out and you are here with nothing
but the consonants and vowels left unscathed
and delirious, jumbled in a pattern only the universe comprehends
but it is night and the rain will continuously fall
despite willing it not to
and you will persist to stay bound in your provincial
mindset, despite willing you not to
i will always be analyzing my brain sequences
because i am that science project that slipped your mind
that 5 dollar bill you misplaced
i am all of those desolate nights spent
staring at your stucco ceiling waiting for it
to blink or move or say something audible
it never does and it never will
and the audacity she believes she possesses
churns my head into an excuse to whisper
all those passive things
subtle seasonings that sprinkle on your eyelids
like lavender dust
the pit of my stomach is darkening, waves shatter the tranquility
because i know the storm is imminent and i can not
fathom how to protect everyone
from the sick grasp of the abhorrent events
that are about to choke your eardrums
Dec 8, 2012
Dec 8, 2012 at 12:29 AM UTC
Attentive
Benign
Considerate
Gentle
Magnanimous
Solicitous
Thougthful
All these related words..
The world will be more humane..
Apr 30, 2017
Apr 30, 2017 at 1:04 PM UTC
It is a sad world where the things
happening in the night are the most fascinating,
which means they are broadcast where we can see them better
and hopefully buy the toothpaste sponsoring them.
The startling things are real, but they are not who we are,
not we who embrace our humanity and shudder
at the tales of those who prey and injure
to feel a power we shun
My mother said there is no paycheck for being good;
Maybe, but there is consolation for
in those moments when what we do
is what we ought to have done
Moments when a stranger's child frightened by lighting
instinctively leaps into your arms for comfort,
times when a stricken cancer patient is solicitous about
the sound of your cough in the doctor's office.
You have felt the warmth I cannot describe
and you know, you know
this is the touch of something greater given to
comfort us for all we will endure.
Apr 20, 2016
Apr 20, 2016 at 5:15 PM UTC
The solicitous Self,
with and in each exchange
of conversation's
volley of commiserating
commissary verbages
words of curbs and gutters,
owns not its guilt
knows not good will
nor for those whom shatter
in our drowning hours, unstill...
The Self is begging
for your idolatry's bastions,
wants you to find it beautiful
and superior
above any other
attention and ingestion
gorging and hoarding
the tid-bit compliments
the cloud nine glances
succulent smiles / flirtatious lick of lips
the audience pumping up
its hot air ego-balloon
to beach ball widths
a deadly kind of perdition
for you, character fool
careless and distracted
blase' as a toad on a stoop...
It is a ****
the amorous Self is
harmless, the beginning seeds
and whimsy / at flowering
in your hands:
fluff and puff intimations
child-like glee / pleasing / blowing
nonpluss dandelions
nonthreatening
in ruminations
N' stuff...
but like any ****
when it spreads and takes hold
the real estate of your time and soul
it chokes and feeds
off your serene prosperity
of peace of mind
of identity
a thief of your ideas
makes your dreams its own
It suffocates all others
behaves with dismissive airs
like you it becomes
you, who has watered
this pest and catered to its musings
like a sudden sunrise it appears
out of the blue appealing
a dandelion, quaint & demure
yet alluring
The ********** that is the selfish
solicitous thorn
knows its own nature
far too well
hides its hideous
kink so none can warn
it is a war
with Self
the attention *****
Self being compelled
as all else
a parasite to its growth
a virus and its host
what she now only has to give
in return:
assuage
her malingered spell
she breeds in you
a ghost of once you were
wastrel grime
wasted time
an empty shell
Abhorred.
Careful what the Self
is selling
the solicitudes
of obsessions
Possession
Suffocation
not much else...
No succor for the Self.
Jan 15, 2016
Jan 15, 2016 at 11:49 AM UTC
We had breakfast on the Champs-Élysées this morning at Café Joyeux. Their croquet monsieur (a breakfast sandwich) was to die for - one bite can cure a hangover. They also serve a deep, rich Yirgacheffee coffee (€15 a cup) that I think God stirs with his little pinkie finger - it’s THAT good. We took up most of the little outdoor, oval tables on the right side (there are 10 of us) and our little sorority was noisy with chatter - earning us looks.
Our European vacation culminates today. We’re flying back to Georgia in a couple of hours. June seemed to drain away like water.
The minion my Grandmère charged with coordinating our vacation, François, breakfasted with us. He’s one of the flock of Sorbonne Université MBAs she recruits each year to infuse new energy into her conglomerates.
He briefed us on our departure and flight. His imposition of definitive order and advance planning allowed us a casual and carefree sense of travel this summer. In an ideal world, he’d coordinate my entire life.
He’s been on-call all month but joined us, off and on - like when we arrived in Doublin, at customs, to smoothly guide us through and again, similarly, in Paris.
He’s 26, very handsome and model looking. He’s perfectly tailored, with an elegant yet minimalist style. He wears dark shirts of admiral and yale blue with long black jackets and gray slacks with no tie. His hair is a hipster straight, blonde fringe.
He’s so perfect that I wouldn’t put it past my Grandmère to have placed him in front of me, like bait, to see if something with us sparked-off.
He’s Frenchly brisk and yet dryly solicitous - as if I have the power to sanction his position, which, in a way I suppose I do.
“How’s François doing?” Grandmère would ask, each time we talked.
“He’s wonderful,” I said, “I think he’s a keeper.”
“Good, good for him.” she would reply - making the comment sound almost sly.
Jun 30, 2022
Jun 30, 2022 at 12:57 PM UTC