Gravely, like grated chocolate on the tongue, sensual, erudite, but friendly, warm, inviting...a tang of citrus, oranges, and mango, O yes mango, sweet, ripe, dark chocolate embedded with orange and spices, silken, and I can feel your throat, a sonorous quivering behind the speaking, hum of life, quiet, symphonic in its own way, the miracle of your voice after the malignancy was eradicated, almost a delirium of reciting poetry as if into a lover's ear in the early hours of the morning, like the massage of holy angels soothing us in our sleep in the paradoxes in which we live like babes...
The chocolate a little bitter mixed with honies to give it a quality of sweetness to produce bliss on the tongue, the caramelized orange bits, oh. And so very, very good for us...
This voice, your speaking, thank you dear John.
Sheath of feeling. Words groping to touch air.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
Woman with Flowers 7.1
(7th sketch in series, first iteration of this one) Woman with Flowers Flowers, props upholding the woman. The flowers, fragrant, imaginar...
-
The Buddha says: “ You cannot travel the path until you have become the path itself .” The path is uncertain. Uncertainty is the guiding for...
-
What if relationships are the primary ordering principle? What if the way relationships are ordered clarify, explain, and instruct us on th...
-
"I hope you are all creating every day according to the inner map you were born with. I know it sometimes seems that map is written in ...
All praise to the Master Chocolatier for evoking cocoa solids, cocoa butter, honey, cane juice, almonds, spices,and the spray of those citric fruit through you, beloved Brenda, my Rolanda Barthes reborn, redivivus, and reconstituted with a subtlety only the aphorist of the Mythologies could muster....
ReplyDeleteI am in the tropics, launched off the coast of Maroc, I have set sail to Lanzarote in a slow glass bottomed corsair blown lazily by a dying sirocco wind, your image on the prow, your words embroidered in lush calligraphy on the sail, my siren aiding me to forget the plunging and rising sirens wishing to draw me to my doom, those bright roseate angels hovering about, their wings flapping like mechanical avatars, leonardo contraptions of wire and artifice,
coleridge´s beckoning albatross.....
you be bits of bliss, miss jewel in thawed out montreal,
you comely, you lissome, you love on the tip of the....