Poetry, dreams, desire, everything leads me to you

Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
Painting by Michael & Inessa Garmash

The Sad Cafe II

You Can Tell me
 
Tell me how you pass the hours.
That slanted smile,
does it hide shackles of pride?
(I have mine too).
You are my obsession,
undulating sensations that
can’t be restrained.
What I know of you,
I have learned through osmosis,
the taste of ozone, like breathing air.
In worldly dreams, I am wearing leather
waiting for you in a Parisian cafe.
Is there shame in what we are compelled to do?
Tell me.
 
by Holly Hunter, House of Heart
❂❂❂

“No. There is no shame between lovers,” I tell her. Renate’s hand in mine, I examine her fingers, now wise to the world and labor, yet still elegant, perfectly manicured in a French tip. How careful she is in her attention to sensual allure. Orchid lips draw my soporific gaze, and I long to be there to taste the wine and hear a sweet moan of desire.

We listen to a classical violin played by Genette Neveu reincarnated, looking directly at us, smiling, her head emphasizing each power chord. It’s as if she is urging us. “Go now, don’t wait. Go, live your heart’s desire. Be foolish. You can keep your reservations and virtue elsewhere for a while. Go now,” she urges. 

The bow dances and the music hypnotizes. The musician drifts through shadows cast by the warm lamps in our sad cafe. Her face beaming, her head an apostrophe to racing arm and bow.

Renate leans into me, her cheek unafraid of my shoulder. The violinist’s approving eyes appraise the vision before her, and she slows the draw of rosin on a string. What sorcery this cupid brings to my heart as the melancholy sound seeks to match Renate’s breath,  urging us to fall into our dream.

I glance down, and in the corner of my eye, I see the lift and fall of contentment through Renate’s long tresses spilled over a blushed decolletage and beyond on the booth is her purse. The gold and abalone flask has peeked out; finally returned to its owner and refilled with a tempting Delord Armagnac that has a finesse like the woman I so desire beside me.

The violinist has won. She knows it. Now the strings deliver the coup de grace, and we rise to dance slowly in the shadows as the other wayward lovers do. Nothing more exists except the scent of a woman and the feel of her beating heart against my chest.

55 thoughts on “Sad Cafe II

  1. I love the paintings that go with these Sad Cafe tales…

    I was not free to wander off and fall off the edge of the world when I visited Paris. I had other concerns pressing in around me at the time. But I remember how golden the light shone at night… and I don’t have the experience to vouch for what this song says but, as someone who has often died in the morning after having run away to the real me the night before, I reckon there are worse ways to handle morning light…

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    1. I was also never in Paris for leisure. Duty tended to narrow the opportunities for me. I’m glad you like the paintings. The artist painted a series of subject in the same café. I thought that not only gave the subjects life but brought the atmosphere of the Café and it’s clientele together.

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                    1. Ahhh haaa haaa! I can’t get my leathers up past my knees due to the redistribution of my upper body to my lower body (darn gravity)🤫. I guess I’ll need new leathers to go with my Ducati. Should I get Black with Red trim or Chartreuse with Black trim?🤔

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                    2. LOL! I call it my Covid Belly. I’ve actually had to get back into shape just so my regular pants would fit. Almost back to my regular non-inflated self. Oh those Ducati’s 😍. My Head Elves want the Streetfighter but my spidey senses like the Panigale just for that cool speed demon look. And no wet leathers for this kid. That would not be a socially responsible scene. 🤭😲😎🛵

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                    3. Ha ha ha! Yep, I’m definitely not alone in with Covid belly syndrome. My youngest started a Cookie Shoppe that delivers and during the R&D phase, I was the test dummy. Best job I ever had. She may be an enabler. 🍪😋. I got a quick edit to do and we are now into the Pangale vs Teal Vespa. Hmmmm, no contest. ⚡️

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                    4. I’ve been baking to keep my mind off the bad stuff. Your daughter very industrious. Fabulous! Your contribution isn’t hard to take either. I’m very excited to see which way it goes in the mode of transportation. Did anyone say these are rich kids, perhaps the teal Vespa. 🤗

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                    5. Baked goods are my Kryptonite. I willingly and joyfully submit my gustatory appetence assay skills for any taste testing. Naturally, I have a special fondness for European style of which the French hold the top spot for my palate. I left a tiny hint that Renate is special, studying abroad in the Health Sciences at a university that has spawned some of the greatest minds in the last 1000 years. She rides a Red Ducati Pangale in Black leathers at home. But, who is this David guy, and what has he done to this bright, young woman of means with so much love and hurt? I suspect we’ll find out soon. 😘🥰🛵

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  2. Sensuous, sensual. Quote: “”I envy the music lovers hear. I see them walking hand in hand, standing close to each other in a queue at a theater or subway station, heads touching while they sit on a park bench, and I ache to hear the song that plays between them: The stirring chords of romance’s first bloom, the stately airs that whisper between a couple long in love. You can see it in the way they look at each other… you can almost hear it. Almost, but not quite, because the music belongs to them and all you can have of it is a vague echo that rises up from the bittersweet murmur and shuffle of your own memories.” (Charles de Lint)

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    1. A lovely quote Sha’tara. Most of us have a treasure of those memories to reflect on if desired. It is true love in this way is a short song and in no way bonds us one to another, but, aside from the emotional roller coaster, we at least have a memory or two to hold us over.

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    1. Hi M. This is a collaboration in lyrical writing. The series is meant to entertain through its lyrical romantic prose but also tell a story about two people who others might relate to in some way.

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      1. Great romantic story where a violinist plays the role of Cupid.

        Instead of a bow and arrow, a bow and strings are used.

        The heart is struck by a melody instead of an arrow point attached to a stick with bird feathers at the other end.

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