Poetry

Sunday, 5 November 2023

Arthur Rimbaud

 She was strongly shambolic

And of the large indiscreet trees

Like through falling glass their leave

Malinely, so near, so near


Sat upon a great chair

In the nude, she fidgeted her hands

On her cheek a fresh breeze

Her little feet they ended her, they ended her


I was the colour of the sky

A little determined ray

Butterflies in my mouse

And on her lip, like flies on roses


I basked in her fine features

She gave out doses of her brutal laughter

Which  like a hand grenade exploded in clear trills

A beautiful laugh of crystal


Her little feet on their path

I savoured them :- walk me to the end

-The first audacious permission

The feigned laughter from punishment


-Poor palpitation of my lower lip

I slowly kissed her eyes:

She let her head fall

On her back, oh it is the best


Mr, I have two words to say

And a whole tree of indiscretions


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