PASSIONATE PRETENSE
Her throat, no longer perfect, but still white,
Invokes the crimson from the sunset glow,
As she awaits the dark - to taste, to know
Carnality incarnate in the night.
The sun's suffusion stains her skin to pink
With its last russet bloom, as if she were
A blushing maiden, innocent and pure,
On satin sheets where white and scarlet link.
What has her throat to do with being white?
Like thorn and petals torn they two entwine,
But not as lovers do -- instead, to dine
In sweet engagement of an ancient rite.
Her white throat is a passionate pretense
That now, twice pierced, belies her innocence.
Copyright Jazzbumpa. All rights Reserved.
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2 comments:
Good stuff. Your poem reads very well aloud. You're brave to even try and, dang, you succeeded where lesser beings have tried and fell on their faces! Not naming names, of course.
Once again, you made your fans and family & friends glad to read you.
Great Toledo sky photo, also.
Still working my way through the LAT puzzle. Not too easy, but no complaints!
Be well.
PJB -
Thanks for the kind words. It's always good to hear from you.
Cheers!
JzB the grateful trombonist
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