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The fable of Alison.

* A character who appeared in my head with a story to tell*

Paper, rock or scissors?

Choose one and you may win treasures.

Paper!

Congrats you have received a first year  wedding anniversary proposition .

I’m not even married – how is this a gift I can accept ever so gratefully, oh harry?

Will you marry me? I can make it true.

Alison threw a rock -aimed for the right side of Harries’ forehead- blood leaked out leaving his lips blue.

A twisty smile caught the ends of Alison’s mouth.

She needed a pair of scissors to cut out his heart.

Grim, I agree but her character is slightly Magee.

Squiggled by all the paper cut out men she’s collected over the years.

Paper mache collage project- in an attempt to fix her heart.

The glue worked better when she inhaled its fumes.

She would depersonalise from her very self and awake discombobulated- and rather confused.

This is the sad tale of how Alison decided she needed to repair her heart.

She flipped a coin that flipped her mind – all in one turnabout,

she came around -started singing the Hokie Cokie.

Her twisted jive improved when the moon drew in a little closer.

She could almost hear a beating heart – she put her hand to her chest and,

well, she fell apart.

Envious stares at Man Mickey Finn – his heartbeat loudly and glowered within.

He was her first.

The first attempt to re-enter the game of tick tockers.

Little did she know that this manic method would send her over to the bog marsh rockers.

Frozen on ice add a straw and a blueberry, she sipped her amorous bloody cocktail – Mary already had men gouging her blood every day.

Shaken not stirred.

Stern, she was shaking.

What did Mary’s conception have that made men fall head over heel and lap for her attention?

Frowned, knitted eyebrows – she added her rouge splash to the mix.

Men looked straight through her – perhaps she needed a bar of a Twix?

She had a cunning plan- not evolved or well thought out. She turned up her senses whenever men were about.

The throbbing, pulsating came not from the heart.

An alarming discovery – It came from below the waist.

Mary – scarlet virgin? miracle, my arse!.

Poor Alison only wanted to feel desired.

When she went for her next ingredient,

she baulked at its form and tried to appeal to its art.

Phallic and paternal it made her blush from the internal.

How would she get it to stay erect so she could snip it off when it was ready to launch and eject?

She tickled the floating accompanied planets and amusement came out in oohs and aahs.

Just a little longer, Alison thought blustered through scrunched up eyes.

 make sure you aim for the right glass and not the glass eye.

The navy would be proud of her solid sea legs.

She mixed this new concoction. so sure she was,

 she convinced me she was devout.

Up the straw, the gloopy mixture reached her swollen taste buds.

Horrified she spat it out – perhaps she needed to make it a little more tart.

She came across a nursing mother – whipped out her hunting tools.

Crying Babe clattered to the tarmac. Scattered Mother one breast left on the right side.

Shake it up and down the hatch. She waited for the rush of ardours to pour in.

Misery entered without a courteous knock. Sit down you gapless, toothy banshee of distrust.

Tears were rung around her neck -weighing in at a hefty sized albatross.

The grief of being ignored compelled her into complete disorder.

How could she end this frenzied quest without settling into a forlorn heap of a mess?

Then a thought rainbowed across her mind. It lifted the burdened clouds and she put her hand to mouth to suppress a giggle.

If no one would have her then she knew what was best.

Alison abandoned her empathy in the puddle of complicated attempts to gain acceptance.

She proudly took her first step into her role as the Queen of hearts.

If men wouldn’t love her, she would make sure they could love no other.

What a dreadful tale, is there are moral to end this fable – make it an epic!

Jesus wept!

I get bonus points if I end this and say she transformed – yes she did and serve this as a warning on how to never ignore the self- proclaimed piously.

Sadie’s swollen lips

*Inspired by Gustav Klimt’s  ‘ The kiss’*

Be the prick

 Be the swollen lips

Be the trickle of blood sauntering down her pale leg.

Treat her fragility -with vagile virility – trust in her own common sense.

Let her open up to you

Let her tease you into bed, out layered by peels of laughter.

Perhaps you find yourself lying up looking at her naked body, legs astride your torso in your bed head.

Don’t try to stop her from controlling the ride.

Sadie’s on top

you best stay on her appealing side.

Reason shuts down – arousal highjacks all senses.

an Amygdala orgasm- hands reveal the disguise no pretences.

Light strokes vary speed and pace.

Exposed to surrender at near glimpses of skin covered in see-through lace.

Playful

Cleansed and tainted from the dance of sentients

Sweaty, ruddy bare cheeks,   clothes abandoned, sheets ruffled into a dazzling fusion.

Eye to eye contact  threatening on impact

Discard pained thoughts numbed by this oxytocin released from incarceration.

Sadie’s initial taunts inspired events such as this audacious body gratification.

Whiskers of petit amours raise to embrace all sensation.

Blood whips around a  framework

 Frenetic climax into a bewildered orgimi of elation.

Beating hearts enthral Sadie to linger.

All mighty mother nature – gave us each blessed finger.

Sadie gives what she feels can un-ribbon her mask of distrust.

Less than few broke her hymen soul – merging adoration and lust.

Needs fulfilled. Fuck pillow talk.

don’t ask her how it was.

See her eyes, see her smile, see?

Her face won’t betray her mind.

indifferent to praises of technique.

 Trust that Sadie’s tasted delicacies never  to discover again

Tongue provokes once soft nipples – get it right.

 you will know by instinct if this entices her.

Spontaneous love.

All-time suspended from her world,

You may lose yourself too

 entangled in limbs.

Sadie need not hear your confession – though she smiles at the gesture.

She knows your lip service is filled with the original grace of binding hymns.

Comely are those creatures features when treated with respect.

Learn to appreciate a woman.

Learn to appreciate art.

Learn what is and isn’t a subject.

Study her until she catches you out

Especially when you least expect it.

A conjurer of a finely dressed tables

in a laboratory with you as her primary objective.

 Endowed with abundant pleasure

A pinch of naive seduction

That look, you wonder –what could she be thinking?

Maybe you’re to busy having a good time to think.

Maybe she stops mid-thrust  curiosity aroused

Out loud you hear  -What are thinking about? 

Maybe you fill  her with expectations

A moment of  temporary heady delight

A moments reprieve from her  slumber

 Facedown  femme fatale floats

Parted lips

Over Imbibed in the river of Styx.

Such a sexy little number

Such a sexy little number

I cry looking for a matching lingerie set

in

case

I want to look great for the moment I hit Downunder.

 

Laugh at your tears

Say a Huge fuck you to your fears.

 

This is the week when bash didn’t do it for me

Sniff

Sniff

Banging

Pocket pat down

hear a  jingle

Family matters is more substantial for me.

 

Write to recover or die trying to live the life of another.

 Freedom will come from sucking the teet from how you was mothered.

 

Be real

authenticate

deliberate who you gonna get rid of

You know them Twockers,

those who instigate?

 

I dilly dally

Think

Cut through the same ally

Second thoughts

Nah, maybe… another time.

 

No masterpiece -is this stream of consciousness

Too oily for an academic poets diet

Borderline poetry on the rocks

Top of the evening to those who think creativity is a bit of alright.

 

.*Song choice is purely based on the dynamics of my relationship with my husband. We are chalk (I am ). and he is pure cheese. 😉