~ The lake
ripples gently,
like a dark silk blouse
floating across the floor.
***
I imagine myself as
Jean Rhys taking her
best blouse off the floor
after a late lover's false lips
kissed her shoulders, her throat,
until her eyelids
became water lilies, full and
lazy drifting past her mind;
and her body
patiently waits for night
to open.
cool. jean rhys was from my country. cool vibes.
ReplyDeletehey B. cool, you & jean from the same country.
ReplyDeletei adore her, but it's so hard to come by her
precious books.
Kewl!!! I like the unconventional structure too!!! Keep writing!!!
ReplyDeletehey BR, ty, much.
ReplyDeleteGreat imagery in this piece Nadege.
ReplyDeleteYour poetry is sultry!!
hey WG, ty.
ReplyDeleteand of course, some flowers close at night. and nocturnals still have to drink.
ReplyDeleteand so begins desire...
ReplyDeleteOr floating on the Wide Sargasso Sea.
ReplyDelete& that, the floating - hey ian.
ReplyDelete