Napowrimo, Poetry, ReadWritePoem, short story

tabac infusion

read write poem napowrimo day 16 whatz that smell. free write i remember 5 minutes; photo: tabac cologne

 i remember you now a short fuse memory long with laughing eyes.  i remember a particular smell flapping freely near my nearness intimate jello knees. i remember perfect perpetual passion spilling left and right and open skies above. i remember venice picture taking under that famous bridge and st mark’s square. i remember italy sunlight seashore mediterranean blues. i remember etratat the sweetness lingers now with seabreeze swaying cliff dwelling shine and small room rumpled sheets. i remember traveling train switzerland secure within your arms when who they asked do you come from. i remember hot vinjac dreams beneath a cool full moon, a distant view of lake bled castle where whispers wandered willingly when walking romance quiet. i remember now not never the scent of you alone. i remember the bottle now elusive no not never broken.

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Poetry

the nature of being

irrational and witty he charmed the pants off me with his simple statements of existentialism or was it the red wine and french music playing along the river seine. sitting outside the cafe dunotpleaz he mentioned the world spinning without reason and how he loved to eat raw hamburger with catsup when no one else was looking. hot with mistrust he confessed his hatred for the bourgeois haute cuisine and longed for a loaf of peasant bread and cheese. though i knew his words were dripping with sugar coated clouds the carrousel affect came to mind and i decided to sit and discover what made this man so delightful with his blue eyes shining.

the tête-à-tête along the river seine was moving freely as the afternoon sun came over the horizon the heat stretching out over our heads as we progressed to slowly sipping expresso and cognac. wanting to practice my french we then shifted our ideas and the discussion started leaning toward the petit-bourgeoisie and within seconds my mind started to drift, listening to edith piaf, already the newness wearing thin from his constant referral to why not….

how intriguing to hear the words of sartre/simone whispered again in beautifully structured american slang single sentences. he then mentioned his book and how his mind was calculating the next line, but truthfully, i was only interested in the accordian music playing and wished he ask me to dance the tango because what else is there to experience in paris along the walkway but a french tango and red lipstick. jacque soon read the words taking shape and how quickly his response to nothingness and being reflected back on the joy of living in paris along the river seine. he then paused smiled leaned forward taking my hand…
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photo: Swamibu, flickr

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