The imagery of “lips spit fire, yet taste like Chardonnay” is such a vivid paradox, and the way you connect her kiss to both a visual “kaleidoscope of colors” and the sound of “psithurism” is beautiful. It makes the experience truly multi-sensory. Beautifully penned.

Hi Ms Valuptas, I would not want your royal “whispering” (unholy or otherwise), sitting in a jail cell. How else would I receive such beautiful comments?

For most of the poetry I write, I add music. I think it adds to the feel and meaning of the poem. Sade’s song “Kiss of Life” was a really good fit for this poem. And yes, I am “foxy”… er… I mean… damn, did I say that out loud? Actually, more “wolfy” than “foxy”. But you know, wolfs can be sly too. ;0)

Anyway, sorry about the couch. THANK YOU for the comment, the visit, and for making my poem feel special!

Beautifully penned, S. Incredible write my friend. Appreciate you.

Damian

Yes, she is better than having a cat.

Meow!

🙂

Most definitely better than having a cat.

Brilliantly penned, S. The life of a writer and her adventures, excellent write my friend. Appreciate you.

Damian

Libellule, this poem spoke to me to the depth of a quiet when the poem discovers itself as you write. The truly felt like a spiritual exploration of the words born out of silence. There is so much here that took me into the quiet to experience in a brief time how the muse awakened to a quiet space that felt like a butterfly to me hovering and feeling the resonance the Japanese poetry Basho felt in his famous haiku. But your poem took me even deeper into that soundless resonance that only a poet of your spirit that take the reader into.

John

Now that is a thought. No distractions other than living your life. Very, very simple life

What I write! And done on the toilet! Lol
This is quite the masterpiece. I enjoyed all the back and forth. Like reading a tennis match.
Caveman vs the 21st century.
Well done!

Loved the ending!

I am somewhat jealous; my toilet poetry is usually flushed because of the brown streaks. You write of the ying and yang of individualism, the brown streaks versus what once was. We humans have lost touch with our origins. We once made cave art, danced and howled at the moon; where it was women who ruled the campfires. And in some ways, we were more intelligent than we are today. We could talk to animals and create myths about the formations in stars. We will never get back to this, but I do think we can create a society where we once again talk to animals and reach for the stars.

Your poem is thought-provoking and appreciated. Thanks for the share.
-Curt/redzone