Sitting on the grass
scarlet flashing fingernails
rolling a joint
(all talk talk talk)
speech bubbles
emerging above your head
holding a glass
of champagne
between your toes.
A little red triangle
of panties every now & then
flashing diamante
in the sun.
Red flag
to a bull.
Your voice
somewhere hidden
behind the waterfall
of your hair.
Your voice
with always the promise
of a kiss
in it
whispering: “Come...
...come here! ”
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Lovely one this. Love the little triangle of red.... the red flag to the bull! Highly apt if you ever heard Onelia and I speak! LOL! But of course that is all I can say! ! ! Brilliant Mr Dempsey - your writing is so enthralling. HG: -) xx