~ for Roderick

1. Not very significant, you might say. And I'd agree, except that I went to a
shop today to try to find something to make them redder. And that I look for
the colour of them all around me. And that orange doesn't work.

2. One reason: so you know where to kiss. The skin is funnelled, runnelled,
so that like paper folded then unfolded, it creases along the lines into perfect

3. Or: superconductor. There's no resisting your electricity. Whatever you
pass to me I carry, like a string vibrates forever in space, until the other end
touches down, liquefies in the growing heat.

~ by Patricia Debney



soubriquet said...

There is a garden in her face
Where roses and white lilies grow;
A heav'nly paradise is that place
Wherein all pleasant fruits do flow.
There cherries grow which none may buy,
Till "Cherry-ripe" themselves do cry.

Those cherries fairly do enclose
Of orient pearl a double row,
Which when her lovely laughter shows,
They look like rose-buds fill'd with snow;
Yet them nor peer nor prince can buy,
Till "Cherry-ripe" themselves do cry.

Her eyes like angels watch them still,
Her brows like bended bows do stand,
Threat'ning with piercing frowns to kill
All that attempt with eye or hand
Those sacred cherries to come nigh,
Till "Cherry-ripe" themselves do cry.
(Thomas Campion, 1617)


red dirt girl said...

I tend to give the old romantic poets the short shrift. As much as I like the modern version of Lips, it doesn't quite compare to Mr. Campion's poem, does it. Sigh.


Anonymous said...

Lips are miraculous things. Without them, the world never would have seen this:


Hi mule friend!

red dirt girl said...

Ahhhh, the miracle of the Sexy Sax Man! Funny how he's considered a nuisance wherever he plays - even on a street corner! I like people who march to the beat of their own, strange syncopation ...

Hi Dave!