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 Jul 2014 mybarefootdrive
NDHK
I can only remember this part...

Maybe a lucid dream hope I've gone to bed with every night.
Perhaps a sleeping memory.

You...
Running your fingers a hairs breadth away from my skin.

Traveling carefully...
From my forehead down to my tinted cheek,
Moving the curls that had been in the way as we talked.

You gently pulled back your hand,
As if, not to offend me by its retreat to your pocket.

You murmured an apology to yourself and I could only muster half a laugh...

Partly because of the endearing gesture,
Also... the surprise of your touch.

You spoke up louder after a second, all the while staring at me with a misplaced bewilderment in your eyes.

"That's what scares me about you" is what finally materialized through the cold fogged breathes our impromptu conversation inspired.

And..

I didn't know if you meant the idea of it,
Or the realization of the fall.



*©NDHK
 Jun 2014 mybarefootdrive
calion
I don't know if I am the writer
or the character.

I don't know who has control.

Am I the mun?
The writer?
The one who makes decisions?

Or am I the muse?
The character?
The puppet?

If I am the muse,
what mun would **** up
a character this bad?
Why does it turn its head from side to side?..........


Watching from the bay window, i knew that very moment,
it was obviously up to something, a mischief at most.
it was comfortably hunched under the cool shade
of the sweetsop tree; the fuschia bougainville,
its thorny  branches  added  to the  shade.
Glaring blue-gray eyes appeared to be
basking in the sunny weather, the
yellow and pink wildflowers, its
body, hiding from the rays of
the sun, hiding 'neath the
tall, swaying  branches
of the oxygen  plant,
with its soft stems
moving weirdly
like a see-saw,
the succulent
leaves, one
by  o n e
being cut
off its stem.
It seemed sure,
as it  hit  its  nose
a g a i n s t  the  whole
bunch over and over....the
leaves, one by one, fell  softly
on the ground. Now, i know why
it turned its head, from side to side...
how surprised was i, for it gathered  the
fallen leaves to where it hid  underneath  the
sweetsop tree......for there, the leaves occupied
some space, and then i saw it lay upon the coolness
of the gathered leaves, then leant its head beside an old
empty clay ***, cold, too, i suppose.....fell asleep in comfort.
I fought the urge to lift this clever,  self-reliant  creature, take it
to my lap and cuddle it, lest it scratch me with its furry paws, glare
at me, even growl at me....instead of rubbing its  body  near  my  legs
giving me sweet meows, soft purrs, so, i left it alone while cat-napping.



Sally

Copyright 2014
Rosalia Rosario A.Bayan
Marian, another one for Lady Jane...please take a moment, lift yourself from your sorrow, read this poem, with Lady Jane  on your lap.
I hope it helps, Marian.
Play your sad guitar a while
that I may sing for thee
of words that sit within my heart
and technicolour dreams.

Play a tune of broken wings
now healed by tender hands
brought to flight by friendship strong
and moons in distant lands.

Harmonise with me this night
let music be our guide,
you see my soul in different light,
through darkness, where I hide.

Then I'll lift up my song to thee
the sweetest ever heard
and raise my voice in thanks once more
to friendship, love and words.
For my sweetest friend.
 Jun 2014 mybarefootdrive
Jack
~

I loved you like there was no tomorrow...
there wasn't
I'm trying not to shop till I drop,
                                                     Help
                                                          
                                                            
                                                                      Me !!!!!!!
Working at a store makes it harder not to engage in, Retail Therapy.
And so it begins, this tale of woe,
As a howling wind began to blow.
She brushed her hair one last time,
And set about her perfect crime.

Anticipating the sound of key in lock.
She glanced herself whilst taking stock.
She could not help but stop and admire,
Her provocative sensual ****** attire.

Black matching lace expensive Lingerie,
Purchased especially from town that day.
She carefully rolled her stockings on.
Any sense of guilt had all but gone.

Placing her feet in her killer red heels.
Reminiscing how he liked how they feel.
Consoling herself as the widow Ms Carter,
As she hid the capsule in her French garter

In the kitchen now the lights are dim,
And the candles flicker, flicker for him.
She hears the sound of his key in the door,
As she prepares the meal, a meal to die for.
many thanks to Stevie G for coming up with the concept. It was fun to write together!
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