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Old 07-03-2018, 10:22 AM   #951
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Quote:
Originally Posted by greenmountaineer View Post
Lizzie
sight: pool table
touch: a shoulder
smell: popcorn
taste: Scotch whiskey
hear: Do-Wap
"Pool is merely an exercise in applied Newtonian physics and trigonometry." intoned the Professor to Lizzie as he unwound himself from the green table after sinking the eight ball. He wrapped his arm around her shoulder, his face so close she could taste the Johnny Walkers on his breath, like him, an anomaly in the bar's atmosphere of Do-Wap, beer and popcorn.

No one knew his real name, some called him the Professor, because of his tweeds and erudite speech, others Icabod due to his tall lanky frame and then for some reason she thought of those long legged flies that appeared at her window each summer. Whatever, sighed Lizzie as she felt the triangle between her legs moisten in anticipation of another lesson in applied geometry.

sight: basement apartment
touch: worn leather
smell: mint
taste: morning after night before
hear: Doppler of passing sirens
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Last edited by Piscator : 07-03-2018 at 04:05 PM.
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Old 07-03-2018, 03:43 PM   #952
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Foreplay

You asked that I wear that old sport coat
with the frayed suede elbow patches
while we listen to Beethoven’s moonlight
in your TriBeCa basement apartment.

Oh, we could see its reflection if need be
on the office windows across the street,
but sweet it is to imagine, eyes closed,
while holding hands here on the couch

amid the hurly burly of Manhattan
and dissipation of a siren uptown,
neither unsettling the harmony
of the sonata for us,

sipping our drams of peppermint schnapps;
discussing “The Second Coming”
by Yeats; Sunday will the Jets beat the Pats?;
and that schnauzer you loved as a little girl

before you tuck me in so to speak
on the couch with a good night kiss,
both knowing that tomorrow night
there’d be a fuller expression of lips.

Sight: two cats
Sound: radio
Taste: coffee
Smell: lilac through an open window
Touch: armrests on an easy chair

Last edited by greenmountaineer : 07-04-2018 at 03:47 PM.
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Old 07-08-2018, 05:12 PM   #953
champagne1982
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Quote:
Originally Posted by greenmountaineer View Post
Foreplay
<snip>
Sight: two cats
Sound: radio
Taste: coffee
Smell: lilac through an open window
Touch: armrests on an easy chair
Lookin' For A Fight

You see your reflection in the window
and wonder where that other
cat came from, nose twitching
to catch the foreigner's scent.
Rival or insignificant?

Instead of pheremones, all you
catch in your whiskers
is the perfume of those soft
purple flowers, standing tall
on sturdy stems brushing
against the screen.

I watch you and take a sip
of coffee, relishing the sweet
and bitter roast on my tongue,
the noise of setting the cup
back down disturbs your intensity.
The stare and yawning game
of intimidation now lost.

Not willing to congratulate
the winner, you stretch out
on the arm of my leather recliner,
and your tail seems to keep time
with The Stray Cat Strut on the radio.

Sight: corn silk
Sound: bubbling water
Taste: bbq smoke
Smell: vinegar
Touch: paper napkin
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Old 07-31-2018, 09:13 AM   #954
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Quote:
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Lookin' For A Fight
Sight: corn silk
Sound: bubbling water
Taste: bbq smoke
Smell: vinegar
Touch: paper napkin

Foothills Tritina


Fingers pluck last corn silk
then plop the ears in boiling water
Taber corn, it’s the best.

Low voice whispers, “You’re the best!”
fingers wiped on paper napkin caress hair like silk
in Calgary, city of clear running water.

Mélange of smoky ribs and vinegar swept away by cold water
then to the bench where the river view’s best
fingers seek portal past damp panties silk.

Silk parts, waters flow, Alberta’s best.

Sight: water bombers overhead
Sound: droning engines
Taste: fresh fish
Smell: distant smoke
Touch: canoe paddle
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Old 07-31-2018, 02:53 PM   #955
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Sight: water bombers overhead
Sound: droning engines
Taste: fresh fish
Smell: distant smoke
Touch: canoe paddle

Fire

There’s no buoyancy left the canoe,
tilted obliquely in the mud.
It’s paddle looks like a crutch.

Fish have ears that can hear water bombers
droning in the distance
that pulsates in the little water left

one beaver, too frightened to gnaw
the skunk maple on which one lone limb
stands a raccoon, nostrils flared,

facing smoke clouds sailing in the wind.
They know different because they are tired
of rainbows no longer fresh.

Sight: high noon sun
Sound: delivery truck horn
Taste: any kind of ice cream cone
Smell: Hibachi meat
Touch: porch railing

Last edited by greenmountaineer : 08-01-2018 at 10:12 AM.
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