Anais Vionet Poet Free verse

Notes About The Poem

Dusty angels

Dust off the angels
hang the lights and mull the wine
prepare a hundred thousand welcomes
for the season grows merry
and my hunger for it is as sharp as teeth.

Flip the script, turn away tired work,
give play its moment on the throne
let pleasures combine and laughter chime
let much too much be much too little

All else is detour.
.
.
Songs for this:
daweb.us/xmas/Christmas_34.mp3

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Chris Conn November 25, 2025 at 11:28 PM I would give your mother a $1000 for just 1 long wet kiss of sensual gratitude … And before you ask -Yes, you can watch. I can only imagine how warm and notable your hands truly are. *Think of House when you read my words. Chris Conn November 26, 2025 at 8:43 PM Long is anything over 7. Anais Vionet November 26, 2025 at 8:41 AM I'm sure that IF she agreed she'd negotiate the exact timing of what 'long' meant.

Vincine Fallica November 24, 2025 at 4:26 PM Now you’ve got me thinking. Thanksgiving in France. What a concept. Ha! If only the Pilgrims were French instead of English, we could be having foie gras, caviar, and escargots instead of turkey. . . . Do they trim the Eiffel for Christmas? I mean, it’s well-lit to begin with. . . . Lovely piece. <3 Anais Vionet November 24, 2025 at 6:53 PM There's no thanksgiving in France - to get a decent sized turkey we had to order one from an Americanized grocery chain called "The Real McCoy." Grandmère's Chef (Julian) was appalled at the suggestion that I could cook it. We managed to get all the fixins and we're celebrating on Friday – because, no holiday Thursday off. You'd think the French could give thanks for something - like zinc countertops and surly waiters.