I thought to pluck your blossom
and make it the centrepiece of my table.
But I caught my finger on a thorn
and now the flower is blooming in my heart.
12/05/08, 6pm
This is the story of a love affair. The title is based on the purported nickname William Randolph Hearst used for the clitoris of his mistress Marion Davies.
Follow this blog
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
Blog Archive
- 
        ▼ 
      
2008
(40)
- 
        ▼ 
      
May
(30)
- The bank of time
 - Thanks
 - Fare thee well
 - Poem
 - Sun song
 - Rosebud and Bottom
 - Or is she?
 - Re: "We move on"
 - We move on
 - A blank page
 - Drawing a line
 - Loyalty
 - Bedazzled
 - Happy mistake
 - Kane's Rosebud
 - A red seed
 - Bonfire of the verities
 - Disenchanted
 - Separation
 - Love in idleness
 - Antaeus
 - On the poem "Worship"
 - Worship
 - I'm glad I am in love again (on the web)
 - Letting go
 - Mornings and evening
 - Courtship
 - I'm glad I am in love again
 - Gypsy Davy
 - Succubus
 
 
 - 
        ▼ 
      
May
(30)
 
1 comment:
I call you Rosebud, but the thorn that pricked me was not from you. We all carry our own thorns, and prick ourselves upon them.
Post a Comment