AFTER THE POSTCARD IN PARIS. (adult theme)
Posted: January 13th, 2011, 10:26 am
Hazel finishes off the postcard she
Wants to send to her father as she sits
Outside the cafe in Paris with Dunne
Looking on watching each word that is put.
She has grown used to her maid sitting down
Beside her now, takes no notice of Dunne’s
Attempt at French to waiters or the clerk
At the hotel desk when she gets the key.
She does her best. Hazel wonders how her
Father is doing without her or Dunne
To run around after him at home to
Satisfy his needs. She puts down the last
Words, signs it with three crosses for kisses.
Dunne watches the hand move the pen across
The page, the fingers holding the pen firm,
The way her mistress’s tongue sits in the
Corner of her mouth as she writes. She feels
Different now in the new clothes, the new silk
Underwear, the dresses and coat and shoes
Her mistress bought for her. Hazel looks up
And puts the pen and postcard away in
Her bag. She looks at Dunne’s features, the way
The hair sits neatly beneath the new hat,
The look the eyes have, the red lipstick so
Carefully applied. Hardly looks a maid
At all now, she thinks, sipping at her small
Glass of red wine, noticing Dunne’s fingers
Embracing the white cup. Dunne remembers
Watching her mistress sleep the night before,
Studying the rise and fall of her breast,
The way her lips waited, she imagined,
For a kiss. Let’s go see some art, Hazel
Says, finishing her red wine, watching Dunne’s
Reaction, seeking any sign of dread
Or dislike or sense of boredom, but there
Is none, Dunne nods and smiles and swallows the
Last of her coffee, placing the white cup
Gently in the saucer. She wonders what
Thoughts occupy Dunne’s mind, what light enters
The rooms of those secret dark passages.
Dunne remembers dreaming of entering
Her mistress’s bed and planting kisses
On the neck, lips and breast and the secret
Softness of her sensual sexual nest.
Wants to send to her father as she sits
Outside the cafe in Paris with Dunne
Looking on watching each word that is put.
She has grown used to her maid sitting down
Beside her now, takes no notice of Dunne’s
Attempt at French to waiters or the clerk
At the hotel desk when she gets the key.
She does her best. Hazel wonders how her
Father is doing without her or Dunne
To run around after him at home to
Satisfy his needs. She puts down the last
Words, signs it with three crosses for kisses.
Dunne watches the hand move the pen across
The page, the fingers holding the pen firm,
The way her mistress’s tongue sits in the
Corner of her mouth as she writes. She feels
Different now in the new clothes, the new silk
Underwear, the dresses and coat and shoes
Her mistress bought for her. Hazel looks up
And puts the pen and postcard away in
Her bag. She looks at Dunne’s features, the way
The hair sits neatly beneath the new hat,
The look the eyes have, the red lipstick so
Carefully applied. Hardly looks a maid
At all now, she thinks, sipping at her small
Glass of red wine, noticing Dunne’s fingers
Embracing the white cup. Dunne remembers
Watching her mistress sleep the night before,
Studying the rise and fall of her breast,
The way her lips waited, she imagined,
For a kiss. Let’s go see some art, Hazel
Says, finishing her red wine, watching Dunne’s
Reaction, seeking any sign of dread
Or dislike or sense of boredom, but there
Is none, Dunne nods and smiles and swallows the
Last of her coffee, placing the white cup
Gently in the saucer. She wonders what
Thoughts occupy Dunne’s mind, what light enters
The rooms of those secret dark passages.
Dunne remembers dreaming of entering
Her mistress’s bed and planting kisses
On the neck, lips and breast and the secret
Softness of her sensual sexual nest.
