"tarte" poems
Tarte Tatin Man,
He wears pears on his hands,
And he glistens like lamb,
He's Tarte Tatin Man.
Tarte Tatin Man,
He's originally from France,
And has a cousin who's a flan,
He's Tarte Tatin Man.
Tarte Tatin Man,
He wears a coat made of pans,
And bathes in butter, not jam,
He's Tarte Tatin Man.
Tarte Tatin Man,
I feel we finished this dance,
Till we meet again, perchance,
Goodbye Tarte Tatin Man.
Oct 26, 2017
Oct 26, 2017 at 6:56 AM UTC
*To sit with you
At the* Café Palais Royal
*It has black and white awning ;
Their* Tarte Tatin, hmm quel régal !
*The view from there ? Never boring.
We have a table* en terrasse,
In the corner of the Rue de Valois,
*One block from my office.
The neighborhood ?* De très bon aloi.
You order a café crème,
*While I sip your smile.
I’m about to whisper* Je t’aime,
*But it’s like walking on a land mine.
So I just look at you,
Oh if you could let me drawn you
In my ocean blue.
Later, we walk to **that bridge
Where we locked our love
Billions of longings ago**.
D . for Darling,
The locks are gone,
They were just too heavy
For my fists.
You can try many tricks,
But life has to go,
On and on.*
Oct 27, 2015
Oct 27, 2015 at 1:10 PM UTC
The warm taste of toasty cinnamon
Sticks to my pinky lips
And memories of simpler days
Are set off by the tarte granny smiths
This steaming bowl
Reminds me so much of home
The comforting feeling of
Of what it is to truly belong
Nov 12, 2017
Nov 12, 2017 at 3:55 PM UTC