Xavier strums Spanish lullabies, goodnight tunes on a twelve-string Gibson meant for dah Blues. Kissing hips atop the unsheeted bed, he is a Bird of Paradise, he is salty turbulent waves brought to this stoic desert. His fingers are nimble, his melody intoxicating. Quill to inkwell, inkwell to quill — written in tongues for crickets to decipher; we leave our Craft for chambermaids to read.
Wow, Patricia, this is just BEAUTIFUL writing! You can hear the music, see the flurry of those strumming fingers, and feel the languid sensualness of its aftermath, practically compose the lyricism in his mind with him, metaphor and allusion, word and music!
When Sophie Bayles inadvertently ruins a young man’s chance for employment, she sets out to find him a new position. Even though he doesn’t want her to.
I wrote this novel several years ago, I self published and never had it to sell. I have decided to rewrite it and hope to get it published within a few months for people to be able to buy. I had a few copies and gave them to a few family members and
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hugs
irish
~Chrissie
This was SO well done! More, please!
An enjoyable reading.
Healthy 2004.
Andre Emmanuel Bendavi ben-YEHU
Quill to inkwell,
inkwell to quill —
we write in tongues"
Hi Pat, you are in top form with this one. so nice to see you here again. I love your lines in this poem. Floria
This one proves why! Enjoyed. Lisa