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Tarragon (Free verse) by D. $ Fontera Her voice weaves sweet,
thick spices into me.
She chassés and her hips
send thoughts of romance
and what whispers do.
We eat quickly to match
our flickering glances.
A faint, burning aroma
clouds our minds
to that which matters most.
Up the ladder:
Ode to the Bun
Down the ladder:
How Well I See
Votes: (green: user, blue: anonymous)
Arithmetic Mean: 6.8333335
Posted: August 24, 2005 8:51 PM PDT; Last modified: August 24, 2005 8:51 PM PDTWeighted score: 5.493059 Overall Rank: 2804 Comments:
[9]
impert&ent @ 80.195.201.212
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26-Aug-05/12:24 AM
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Nice evocations of cooking throughout - but for the line about hips. So I'm thinking of a substitute for chassés that involves a stirring, a rolling, a grinding.
[9]
INTRANSIT @ 205.188.116.198
> impert&ent
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26-Aug-05/6:56 AM
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Mortar and pestle perhaps? I agree chasses has to go. But are we eating cooking or dancing here, um, perhaps it's (eat) that needs to go? Damn close though. Brings me back to Instructions to a sculptor by Christof.
I adore: "Her voice weaves sweet,"...awesome line...perhaps change chasses to 'shifts'?...
'She shifts and her hips send thoughts of romance'...etc. 168 view(s)
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