Frascati.

White Italian wine and wild, wild strawberries
the finest Frascati – the sweetest reddest
berries, erupted on her lips.
A mere winters fancy staving off the rain
sojourns for the evening, by her open fire side.
In a while she will take to her bed – whilst
eating dinner – despondent never,
as she shutters up to settle down.
Tattered flannelette pink dressing gown
heaven ascends her ease

She kissed a man today or was it yesterday
closely shaven – misbehaves she fancy’s.
His breathe was one of honey and cigars
he held her hand – gentlemanly, I suppose.
Could it really be all of seven summers?
Tastes as yesterday – but still he gets in
her bloody way…

Christmas cake – mistletoe they did
them both as singing ‘Auld Lang Syne’
Yet this time, when she looked to notice
his hand was missing from her side.

Happy New Year never was spoken again
to each other:
I guess that’s the way, love sometimes goes.

Poppy August 2014 ~xx~

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