"trattoria" poems
We were waiting at the trattoria
for our friends to arrive,
when she walked in,
Aphrodite, alive.
Her skin, olive brown,
gently kissed by the sun.
A fertility goddess if
there ever was one.
A picture of symmetry
long legs and great hips.
Neapolitan eyes
and, of course, bee stung lips.
Magnificent mammaries,
barely contained
in the briefest of dresses.
as I stared, unashamed.
There, of course, are impediments
I won't try to hide.
The ring on my finger,
my bride at my side.
Plus there's the issue
of fifty years gone.
My Romeo days
have packed up and moved on.
Now our friends have arrived
and, chaste kisses exchanged,
We feast on our entrees
as wine glasses are drained.
As dessert time approaches
I sadly observe
she’'s not on the menu
Pumpkin Cheese cake will serve.
Dec 26, 2011
Dec 26, 2011 at 9:28 PM UTC
Poetic trattoria
a feast for the eyes
Visionary smorgasbord
of what — and then why
(Dreamsleep: April, 2025)
Apr 26, 2025
Apr 26, 2025 at 1:36 PM UTC