She twisted her hair in the usual way
but instead of crisscross chopsticks
she plunged them through parallel
a path to convey eyes from the navel
of her auburn haircushion hairpillow hair
flower to the bare curve of neckshoulder
like an undiscovered mountain slope
and then reascending to three plumerias
artfully placed white with yellow centers
like eggs but if you could lean in real close
smell their nag champa incense you might
not be able to resist deepbreath nosenuzzle
napebite lobelick breastreacharound exhale.


About Ray Sharp

Father, poet, triathlete, local public health planner
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11 Responses to Frangipani

  1. henna ink says:

    Oh good golly. It’s too early for this. Whew … um, speechless. Excellent work, Ray. So glad to have discovered your writing.

  2. hedgewitch says:

    Love the ‘portmanteau’ words, as Carroll once called them I believe–they induce a real increase in the progression at the end, a passionate sliding, if you will. Also the mastery of detail here is part of the deliciousness of the sensations, and the careful sense of a Japanese black-ink drawing under the hood. (I have added you to my blog roll. Glad to have encountered your work.)

  3. It is an intoxicating flower/scent, isn’t it?

  4. Whew! Pungent, romantic, sensual, HOT!

  5. I sigh at the last two lines, very delicious read ~

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