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Welcome ! | Home · FAQ · Topics · Web Links · Your Account · Submit Poetry · Top 30 · OldSite Link | 18-June 14:45:41 AEST | ||
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Array
(
[sid] => 171980
[catid] => 1
[aid] => mick
[title] => Madame Blanc
[time] => 2012-04-17 14:50:40
[hometext] => I'm still not completely happy with this one. However, everyone needs to submit their first poem- and this is mine.
[bodytext] => Madame Blanc savoured bath-time- how the water explored all of her, knew her completely, unlike those in the town outside, who saw her face, clothes, but nothing more. Sometimes men would stare, search deeper, but all they ever found was their own dream of her- without rich thoughts, feelings, or the warmth of blood beneath the skin. But in the bath she could sink freely back into her own deepest truths; she saw her childhood- the dry grass against her legs (how it used to itch), mama’s full smile and papa’s silly fun; then her schooldays, with the pettiness but then the simple, break-time kisses; and university, which made her a woman through its trials and pleasures. But then the water would lose its last heat and she’d climb out, sighing as she covered up her torso- the towel harsh against her flesh. [comments] => 2 [counter] => 109 [topic] => 31 [informant] => HaroldWilson [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 0 [ratings] => 0 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => StoryPoetry )
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