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Butterscotch
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Romanticism she smiles across the room and i smile back
like we're touching horizons
though, you'd say none are brighter then hers
and you wouldn't be wrong
at all
look through the periscope from my sunk-treasure soul
these waters are safe
she moves across the day so lithe, surrounded
by her long-flowing waves
of hair
and i've started from the inside out
that's what showed me the beauty of it all
now i've been washed ashore again
where i belong, where we begin
she' so lithe
and butterscotch
she glances up from her thoughts and i am pulled back
from mine escaping the season
though, you'd say none are deeper then her
almond glances and stares
into,
into the periscope of my found-treasure soul
c.p.r. by sight
her lips, her philtrum so soft even to vision
by her long-flowing wave
and her petal-soft skin
almost
almost butterscotch
and what showed showed me the beauty of her
i've started from the inside out
that's what showed me the beauty of it all
now i've been washed ashore again
where i belong, where we begin
she's so lithe
and butterscotch
and i'm barely scratching the surface, in this description
a mere glance through my periscope, into her endlessness
and you'd barely be scratching the surface, afterall
i started from the inside out, to know what i know
she's so beautiful
In Fluttering Surprise I write this!
My Dear Poetic Sir,
Oh, but to be Miss Butterscotch! I must say If you did not share this poem with that anonymously famed her I should think you are a coward and a truly unfair man ( not gentleman mind you, as a gentleman would have shared this poem with the lady that inspired it!) I am no Miss Butterscotch myself but I, for a few skittering moments ( while reading this so beautifully conserved encounter that has passed) found myself wishing I were and that sir, is your power in poetry. To make middle aged frumpy women such as myself to feel for a moment through your scrumptious poetry that they too could be that young lovely force of nature that for a moment showered your entire being starting with your eyes with but the gift of her presence. You shame this middle aged woman to blush with delight and recall glorious days of fonder remembrances all of my own. Thank you for that! You do the English Language proud! but please do not be so cruel as to stop sharing your poetic observations with we here at Post Poems more and more. For I believe we ladies here would feel truly bereft. A sincerely smitten poetic female fan, Melissa Lundeen.
Thank you
I'm sorry i never thanked you for this comment, but truth is i never even knew i got it! I feel bad that i didn't, considering how much of your emotional insight you gave to me. Honestly, i've never recieved remarks from a stranger that carried so much meaning to me, in my life. Thank you for that. Ironic as it may seem, Miss Butterscotch was not quite as youthful(agewise) as you may have imagined. That is perhaps the most fascinating portal of poetic writing, i have to say, our interpretation through our perception. You, surely, must have had someone see you as a Miss Butterscotch in your life. Someone who saw you from the inside out.