Folly Island
by John Riley
I knew a girl on Folly Island who took
showers in water so hot
her skin blushed pink rosettes.
She'd shower, stretch on top
of bed sheets, satin always,
perfect for the heat that lives
when the other fills the eye,
before you fold like smoke
the sea breeze turns
back inside itself. Folly is an island
of foliage, live oaks with hanging moss,
wisteria, magnolia trees that bloom
white flowers. She lived on the edge
of a marsh, where the fragrance is at first
oppressive but soon becomes a rich aroma
you miss when you're gone.
A sweet, rich and wistful song. *
"perfect for the heat that lives
when the other fills the eye,
before you fold like smoke" That's some nice writing.*
Thanks, Mathew and Gary. It's cool that you enjoyed it.
Great imagination and control in this aromatic poem.
Fave, John. Lovely. The redolence here is so strong. I can almost catch the scents.
Add me to the admirers of this one, John.
super!*
Thanks John,
"the fragrance is at first
oppressive but soon becomes a rich aroma
you miss when you're gone"
I needed something beautiful and human today.
Very vivid. Nice one, John.
So purely sensual I can breathe and feel it.
Fave*
Good piece. Nice music in the lines.
I love the way this rolls along, John. *
Thanks, everyone for reading and commenting. I got a little sick and fell behind for a few days.
ten!*
Thanks, Joani
Rich and seductive. Fave!