Oh gosh, I found my very first poem… R.I.P. JEK, my muse <3
Girl Left Alone in a Time of Love and War
His lov’ly lips, now lour upon my house. Those lips, those lips, those two, thick, luscious lips. Those lips, when shared, they cared - Dared to arouse naught’ thoughts: Soldier, touch my neck, hold my hips.
Lips lock’d, lips gloss’d, lips draw on cigarette. Evening - warm embrace, embrace, embraced. Lips, I trace. O, that smile, when we first met. Morning - “Goodbye, goodbye, goodbye,” in haste.
In haste. Why, in haste, did those lips leave me? Lips so cruel to kiss, caress, and leave me. They never did come back to me, those lips. Deploy’d. Destroy’d. By bombs, by battleships.
This is one of my first poems, written in both English and French.
Whoopsy-Daisy à La Boulangerie de L’Amour
The elderly baker rolled egg and flour, barely hearing the clock chime the hour. Needing yeast, kneading yeast for dough that’s sour. Today, waltzed in a different sort o’ flower…
"Comment est-ce que je peux vous aider, mon amie?" Les vieux, fragiles doigts se reposent sur sa tête. "Fancy a few famous Loaves of Love, three!" Young fingers tingling - gloves of green velvet.
"Vous désir mon Pain de L’Amour?" "Uhh… Oui?" Ingredients? Ha! He’ll never tell. Pungent potpourri de patisserie… Nose rosy, adores odors, sniffling smell.
Loaves of Love… Mmm, she was reminded of sweet tastes of warm, doughy, freshly-baked love soon hers! All hers! To cherish, to devour… Possibilities bud like the flower for which is the name she was given: Daisy. "But you may call me, ‘Whoopsy’," she whispered Smirk and wink. “Get it? Like ‘Whoopsy-Daisy!’” A distant cloud murmurs, rumblings are heard…