A Plaintive Missive to the Object of His Affection . . .

In dappled light and shade you sit, strident and lovely.
Bearing your wicked beauty like a flag,
you reignite that fickle flame
I thought long doused.

The coral pink pleat of your lips
pull forth a passion long forgotten.
The subtle swish of your skirt, a red flag
to the charging bull of me.

And once again I am lost, intoxicated.
Plunged into delirium by that heady scent you emit.
Unbalanced, as it comes drifting on the sultry air
and unfastens from me, my reason.

You are my laudanum . . .
You are my love . . .

So cover your tender ears, and please pay no mind
to the vicious wail of my wounded and bloody heart.
For the pain you can hear, is that of my piercing,
as I fall upon the broken shell of this fierce longing.

And though its keening pitch may seem extreme,
please forgive me, for I have no way to quieten its sound,
or to still the wild racing of my pulse. As once again
I am slain by that quick sharp sword of your beauty.


This tale of a suitor and the object of his unrequited love was inspired by The Sunday Whirl and the words of wordle 29.

I didn't know whether I would be joining in with any prompts this month, as I am taking part in Nanowrimo for the second year. But I was up early this morning and my plot was eluding me, so here I am. :-)

Please forgive me if my posts and visits are rather sporadic this month, I will be back. - Susannah x