Marvelous redheaded ballerina think she is petite
I think her overconfidence is truly rather sweet
Her tutu is a bit snug, but I find this endearing too.
Grateful that I no longer feel I have to wear a tutu.
Everence, most evenness scenes ever.
The cremated remains last.
Can I return it for a difference?
Zealous, jealous, and conscientious,
emanated outward, giggles and grins.
Can I re-petite ****?
We both got drunk,
in briefness of
wine of pleasure...
We die for an instant
in the succinct eternity
of Petite Mort.... !
Straight to the cares of sweetest pleasure,
souls flying from hence to dopamine treasure.
Honey fragrance silver sensation well,
weaken consciousness loss of mind to tell.
Post inferior nervous spasm fainting episode,
the cultural link between coitus and death.
Anger management at the intimate edge,
Champagne sipping la petite mort alleged.
Glorious salvation by Shakespeare intentions,
the laughing crowd entertained by symbolic intervention.
“For she plunges a phallic object into her sheath’’,
divine spending in euphoric wishing death.
The force like flow in quick gentle mercy know
all in love pleasing wilt ravish in great joy.
Involutionary tension to reactive kundalini,
chakras natural image correspondence Genie.
Red and blue
In the sun;
On an island
Near the coast-
Strange and
Bizarre flower,
With blissful scent,
Feverishly spent!
Heart of the morning,
And the color-
Of the sunset,
On skies of blue.
My little flower,
So savagely wild!
Come and sit,
ma petite kit
come, sip
Sip a small bit.
I'll sing you a song,
here's my love
come, purr..
let me curl
your fur,
as you sleep
soft like sheep,
I silently peep
as I promise to keep
dear,
you safe and sound here.
12-9-19
Yalto Poems Only Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Emile Pinet
https://www.howmanysyllables.com
I love your naked body
A canvas for my claws
In the midst of pain and pleasure
Your bound to do it all
From the ripping of the flesh, La petite mort
You feel the little death
Only one rose knows your name
But the thorns are why you came.
petite hands
molding my heart like clay
motherhood
Petite she may be, but her words say otherwise
Extremely intelligent, simply read through her writes
Themes of mix, appropriates my eyes
Inner thoughts of her peripheral, leaves me to sigh
Testament to her faith
Everlasting, it's in her eyes
Poetry plays a part, massively in her life
Outwardly there's that smile, wonderfully rife
Emitting, oozing warmth, infectious she be
Thermal is her heart, fusing you and me
Exceptional she, and she will become
She being the Petite Poetess
Simply, she's the one.
For it could be seen
Someone else, other than me
I would choose a geisha girl
Walk on wooden shoe
In my small, petite like steps
Artist of the unseen world
There once was a girl petite
Who wasn't all that sweet
But was the one
That everyone
Simply just HAD to meet
.
Modestly
the indulger of write
inch by inch
with charge
augments her veneer
"supple
taut
pink pixie
flesh
hern eyne
taunting me emerald
with long cinnamon wavy tresses"
Upon the table
his pen and slip
conditionally reposed
Upon the bed
her petite impression
his galvanizing
kiss
On a cobblestone path,
All the remnants of a love that was
Like outstretched arms
Trees dance in the wind
The branches needlessly trying to
Grasp the petite memories
Holding them tight, refusing to let go
As the last drops of wine slip from
Your glass into your mouth
Announcing the final beat of a love that was
Petite Poetry
The haiku nature floating through it-
© Dane Ann Smith-Johnsen
February 14, 2010
Poetic form: Monuku