I am a sucker for warm cornbread Passion for it rising from within to my hips Warmly intense in its soft smoothness like milk Every bite is lust sweetly swallowed Then there is you Walking in In the midst of it all And once again like before you arrived Passion starts rising This time from my hips swayed and corked straight to the left Where you dark brown eyes now rest Like that warm cornbread…
Your morning breath like sugarcane creamed coffee Warms up my lax neck sweet tension slowing rising Your eyes brown and soft like jelly buttered toast Fills me leisurely up, cliché words morning rituals and such Mostly unnecessary Your strawberry tongue finding its lonely path Down my happy throat Gingerly cooling my new dawn
Image courtesy of http://www.fanpop.com
How I would love to lie in your arms
Sipping fine aged wine
As you nibble on exotic and sweet fruits
Dark chocolate pieces all about
Your sultry voice whispering amusing seduction
Enchantingly into my heart
My spirits soaring
With the evening breeze
Your love, my laughter
Both echoing out loud
As our eyes full and alive
Heartily take in Rome’s beautiful architecture
Friday fictioneers is up and running this week many thanks to our new host Rochelle, who has so kindly taken over from Madison Woods. Her photo this week sent my heart racing with smiles…I love cafés, and every little thing about them. So I tried to channel that into my fictional story, and then added a poem as a bonus. As always comments and constructive crticisms are welcome, and please feel free to join in and participate. THANK YOU ALWAYS!
Image courtesy of Rochelle
Oh how I love nifty little cafés…the sights…the aromas…sizzling hot coffee…warm buttered croissants… delicately soft chocolate marble pound cakes…raspberry tarts…need I say more?
Every morning, I stop by just to take in the entirety of this particular café, soft music floating around in the air with the smells, the ever friendly servers, and then there’s one…one I really like…piercing brown eyes taking my brave soul captive…my intentions completely exposed…I can’t help myself around him…
More so, when he picks up his guitar and does an impromptu performance…my mind wanders straight into his arms, and all I can think of is him…sweetly serenading my lobes…as we sip coffee…legs wrapped around each other in suspension, after a long day of loving.
POEM- WHERE OUR SWEET LOVE WENT WRONG
Alone with my thoughts
I sit
Blindly staring out
This coffee house window
Painfully I wonder
Where our sugar and spice
Sweetly made crepess with sprinkles
On top love and contagious desire
Went wrong
This coffee house serves as
The only reminder of what once was
Quiet and lonely views
From (y)our favorite booth
Now responding to me in whispered echoes
Tears falling down the window
Of my broken soul
Image courtesy of http://www.picfor.me
Derek does not how else to celebrate this fine young woman. He does not how to show his gratitude on a quiet Sunday night. He has no idea how to thank the woman who plays mom and dad when he’s away at war…he knows not what to do…even now when the little ones are asleep, and he is finally back home. He does not know how to celebrate her…
He brings out some fine bubbly…a chunk of her favorite dessert…fresh berries…fine dark chocolate…various toys…all that she likes…
He still does not know how to celebrate her…so he wears nothing but his father’s day gift…a cologne…then walks over to her erect and upright while she is relaxing…. Boyz II Men playing in the other room…Derek nibbles his wife’s ears from behind and whispers softly…
“Who’s your daddy?”
