29wordsforsnow
beyond thirty
- Joined
- Jul 17, 2019
- Posts
- 1,210
(choco)late Holly
Subtly dark, and not in time for the 5 senses prompts challenge
Sight: a cat, any type
Sound: rock and roll (be specific, name a song or artist)
Scent: incense
Taste: chocolate
Touch: pebbles
Holly
was the name
no address
no directions
"Just Holly."
And while the tape deck in the asthmatic Fiat,
climbing the dust path up the little island hill,
denies the day the music died, it's not Buddy
I came here for.
Strange enough, the satnav knows about Holly,
her, not him.
Anything else in the little red mountain rider
is like the 20th century boy behind the wheel,
unknowing of todays.
A decadently long distant call
wasting an hour of my lifetime
with nothing specific, only a name:
Holly, no family
name remembered, has brought me here.
Rumors said I wouldn't be her first,
Dozens to be more specific,
capital 'd' as in Dollars made
with Hollywood Swinging.
But everything must end
even the path
before a well-aged chapel
with stacks of neatly chopped
dark wooden boards on the side.
Beside the wind, the only sound
comes from the nervous pebbles
greeting every one
of my steps.
Inhaling the view of the deep blue
sea and sky mixed with a Marlboro
fallen out of time, a rumble behind
my back.
The unwelcome of one of Siegfried&Roy's
sends me down into the reassuring grey
no-love of once-a-mountain.
"Lulu, you just had dinner,"
some well-aged angel calls out.
She's straight,
"Heard you're a good listener, Sonny,"
providing a hand,
I mannerly offer a kiss,
just to find seasons have changed.
Bitter-sweet welcomes my tongue,
her index finger straight as well,
finds the offer of opened lips,
the dark taste awakens memories.
Inside, there's not much left.
Just a strong blanket
covering any other scent,
"Previous owners left a lot of that,
takes ages to burn it all."
Apart of that
there's only the altar
dressed in fresh linen on top,
and an armchair for her majesty to sit.
Some of the grit found it's way inside as well,
but there's no other place but the ground,
offering a pillow of a leg for Lulu
to drool on.
"I called you here to do the The Tigress."
My heartbeat echoes from another brick in the wall.
"That's what you ghostwriters do, don't you?"
Confusion is met by,
"A little story about a predator, my dear!?"
My eyes meet Lulu's,
my ears her laughter.
"On, no, silly,
it's not about grooming
or a carnivore's diet sheet
.
.
.
Well..."
Playing with a golden lock,
her finger nestles inside
the garb befitting a Grecian Goddess,
"Your tongue, is that anything good for?"
Floating from her throne,
silk and satin falls,
exposing darkest brown stripes
that emphasize her ribcage,
running down to her now tigered golden curls.
"We started ahead with dessert today..."
already making good of use of a useless tongue
remembering the dark flavor minutes ago.
"Shoo, Lulu, maybe that's the one..."
Subtly dark, and not in time for the 5 senses prompts challenge
Sight: a cat, any type
Sound: rock and roll (be specific, name a song or artist)
Scent: incense
Taste: chocolate
Touch: pebbles
Holly
was the name
no address
no directions
"Just Holly."
And while the tape deck in the asthmatic Fiat,
climbing the dust path up the little island hill,
denies the day the music died, it's not Buddy
I came here for.
Strange enough, the satnav knows about Holly,
her, not him.
Anything else in the little red mountain rider
is like the 20th century boy behind the wheel,
unknowing of todays.
A decadently long distant call
wasting an hour of my lifetime
with nothing specific, only a name:
Holly, no family
name remembered, has brought me here.
Rumors said I wouldn't be her first,
Dozens to be more specific,
capital 'd' as in Dollars made
with Hollywood Swinging.
But everything must end
even the path
before a well-aged chapel
with stacks of neatly chopped
dark wooden boards on the side.
Beside the wind, the only sound
comes from the nervous pebbles
greeting every one
of my steps.
Inhaling the view of the deep blue
sea and sky mixed with a Marlboro
fallen out of time, a rumble behind
my back.
The unwelcome of one of Siegfried&Roy's
sends me down into the reassuring grey
no-love of once-a-mountain.
"Lulu, you just had dinner,"
some well-aged angel calls out.
She's straight,
"Heard you're a good listener, Sonny,"
providing a hand,
I mannerly offer a kiss,
just to find seasons have changed.
Bitter-sweet welcomes my tongue,
her index finger straight as well,
finds the offer of opened lips,
the dark taste awakens memories.
Inside, there's not much left.
Just a strong blanket
covering any other scent,
"Previous owners left a lot of that,
takes ages to burn it all."
Apart of that
there's only the altar
dressed in fresh linen on top,
and an armchair for her majesty to sit.
Some of the grit found it's way inside as well,
but there's no other place but the ground,
offering a pillow of a leg for Lulu
to drool on.
"I called you here to do the The Tigress."
My heartbeat echoes from another brick in the wall.
"That's what you ghostwriters do, don't you?"
Confusion is met by,
"A little story about a predator, my dear!?"
My eyes meet Lulu's,
my ears her laughter.
"On, no, silly,
it's not about grooming
or a carnivore's diet sheet
.
.
.
Well..."
Playing with a golden lock,
her finger nestles inside
the garb befitting a Grecian Goddess,
"Your tongue, is that anything good for?"
Floating from her throne,
silk and satin falls,
exposing darkest brown stripes
that emphasize her ribcage,
running down to her now tigered golden curls.
"We started ahead with dessert today..."
already making good of use of a useless tongue
remembering the dark flavor minutes ago.
"Shoo, Lulu, maybe that's the one..."
