I've done nothing but meddle with the spontaneous poems that I wrote here, recently; I hate it when this happens, but I'm completely poetically-impotent from April until about September... it frustrates me so.
I would be really interested to read something of Panzade. Which reminds me, I ought to take a shot at writing up this related poem in prose...
A muse? The most I've ever aspired to is amuse.
Drom, thanks much for the praise (incoherent or otherwise). Very encouraging!
Gus, what can I say? Such subtlety and nuance... I'm speechless.
Gus And The Hooker
by Panzade
I spilled the chicken,burned the wine
but never mind
She kissed my forehead as if I were blind
And in the darkest Autumn in the clear moonlight
I caught my breath and heard her sighs
I held her sighs
Against my heart, wild so wild
In the Autumn night
Beautiful, Panzade! When I saw Gus' name in the title I thought for sure it was going to have something to do with a goat, but....
Anyway, I must bid adieu for now!
Adieu, notre amie!
I liked that, Panzade. You made Gus' encounters into something beautiful. I hope to see more of you here.
