Rodrigo Rodriguez, Unsplash

Hangover

at the grocery ~
Meeting accidentally in the wine section
you sip me shyly with gentle conversation
and read the label on my selection,
your hand brushes mine, a sensual appeal
It’s for drunken pasta! I explain,
you laugh and say you’d rather drink than eat it
your eyes are Wedgwood blue and hold a wistful smile
you imagine I’m something fine, a vintage port
you’re flushed with the fancied sweetness
I could drink you too, a sturdy Bordeaux
but I no longer deal well with hangovers

© 2017, Jamie Dedes



Three from Shakespeare:

My Love Is A Fever, Longing Still

My love is as a fever, longing still
For that which longer nurseth the disease,
Feeding on that which doth preserve the ill,
Th’ uncertain sickly appetite to please.
My reason, the physician to my love,
Angry that his prescriptions are not kept,
Hath left me, and I desperate now approve
Desire is death, which physic did except.
Past cure I am, now reason is past care,
And frantic-mad with evermore unrest;
My thoughts and my discourse as madmen’s are,
At random from the truth vainly expressed:
For I have sworn thee fair, and thought thee bright,
Who art as black as hell, as dark as night.

Let me not to the marriage of true minds

Let me not to the marriage of true minds
Admit impediments. Love is not love
Which alters when it alteration finds,
Or bends with the remover to remove:
O no! it is an ever-fixed mark
That looks on tempests and is never shaken;
It is the star to every wandering bark,
Whose worth’s unknown, although his height be taken.
Love’s not Time’s fool, though rosy lips and cheeks
Within his bending sickle’s compass come;
Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,
But bears it out even to the edge of doom.
If this be error and upon me prov’d,
I never writ, nor no man ever loved.

Sweet love, renew thy force be it not said

Sweet love, renew thy force be it not said
Thy edge should blunter be than appetite,
Which but to-day by feeding is allayed,
To-morrow sharpened in his former might.
So, love, be thou, although to-day thou fill
Thy hungry eyes, even till they wink with fullness,
To-morrow see again, and do not kill
The spirit of love with a perpetual dullness.
Let this sad interim like the ocean be
Which parts the shore, where two contracted new
Come daily to the banks, that, when they see:
Return of love, more blest may be the view;
Or call it winter, which being full of care
Makes summer’s welcome thrice more wished, more rare.

– William Shakespeare

As you can see, I’m trying to catch up.  I hope everyone had a lovely Valentine’s Day and that each day gifts you with a bit of romance.


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3 Comments

  1. first I kept waiting, I was told to
    then I was told to wait no more
    You said ‘No, and went further
    away from one land occupied-
    to another foreign far away but
    that mattered not, anymore
    you are and were the first love
    but this love stayed in the heart
    forbidden to be expressed, from
    the start,never love for it is never
    returned, what never departed can
    it ever return?
    what a pure feeling born without
    death, but killed unseen torn apart
    love is not for a day, it engulfs the
    soul and resides, settles in fathoms
    bottomless, no wine can wash, nor
    impatient waves pull away to drown,
    sadness may encase, but ‘let the interim
    like the ocean be’
    sincere love will float from edge to edge
    from beach to beach, till life breathes
    till eternity.
    I am not told anything more
    I don’t wait nor think anymore.

    Liked by 1 person

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