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Cinnamon whispers,
golden crumbs cling to my lips~
brandied cherries laugh.
Fruitcake, dense with Christmas joy,
melts like stolen midnight sun.
Amidst wistful notions
to revive his parched heart,
he craves to be ladled with her ardent spirits,
to be cradled... in the tulip of her essence.
Susan Ashley
July 19, 2019
~ Tenth Place ~
An excerpt from: The Irony Of Fate (written July 18, 2018)
Submitted for contest: July 19, 2019
Premiere Contest: Arbitrium Divisa 3
Sponsor: Gregory R Barden
In a moment of juvenile jealousy
he envies his red rival
with its intimate and greedy embrace of her angels’ share
of honey and vanilla spice
as wet stretchy hands of fervent fabric
possessively cup
her brandied beauty
amidst wistful notions
to revive his parched heart
he craves to be ladled with her ardent spirits
to be cradled in the tulip of her essence -
evaporating every chill from the calyx of her sweetened cordial
warming her in the hearth of his hands
as she melts
like buttery sunbeams
intoxicating the bleached beachy sands..
his dreamy grin falters and his tantric trance fades
as tattered edges of reverie unravel -
a haze beclouds his aged green-eyed gaze
graying his white periwinkle pipe dream
as he sees that his best days are long past
Susan Ashley
July 18, 2018
She felt utterly drenched
in his intoxicating poetry
whetted her insatiable
hunger for allegories'
drunken semblances,
quenched an arid thirst
parched of reality,
as she fully indulged
a 'roused appetite
amidst gratifying
brandied fruits &
abundantly aromatic spice
of his arduous delights
Fractures of time…
Brandied words spoken…
Sweet ardor…
Flowing from her fingers
A master creating…
Elucidations…
That fiery love…
That still echoes within
Finitely endless moment…
Her enrapturing look…
Passions first touch…
The spark that was overlooked
Shards of past days…
Etched scars upon me…
Leaving your image eternal…
In the safety of my precious yesterdays
Sign right here on the dotted line
where everything is almost fine
and sip the sip of brandied wine
a thousand biting berries.
Step right up and don't be shy
today's the day you'll almost die
Stop the clock to ask it why
finding the hands are mute.
Slow right down but don't be late
for you'll be sure to complicate
the winding road to stop and wait
sipping the wind indigent
Pass right by and don't you cry
and we'll serve you a slice of sky
with brandied wine you'll wonder why
you ever can't be merry...
Curling 'round the wrists of men
scent of soda, salty skin
burning asphalt and the like
mentholated, acrid sky
Simmered hint of peppermint
lager froth and dart board dust
brisk of midnight on their brow
jaw a concrete bite
Silver watches in their glow
holding scents of lemon musk
brandied oil, wishes too
from every girl they've met
Work is there right at their wrists
melting steel and stamping sleet
backward masked and fortunate
snap of smoke and sky
Earthen ginger, piped and singed
braided breath of momentum
granite blood and calloused hands
centered feet and grease
Held at bay in warm appeal
shadows way past five o'clock
Carved out strong and seared robust
these wrists inclined to labor.
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