This summer Ottawa had the freedom
of your forbidden unveiled .
Passagers of our spiceship ,
gossips drifting down the river !
We loved each other
in a tornado of wild blueberries
and some intimate coconuts .
You were a fruity testing virgin
offered to the sacred totem ,
Ottawa in love turning our sun dance...
In front of the window
that opened onto the night ,
clothed on your splendid nakedness
you tackled some caramelized improv's
on your guitar, offering me
a trebble key to heaven
in fugitive chords
who enchanted Bethoveen !
I contemplated you
emerging of sleep
like a kitten stretching out
on the shores of a cloud ...
beyond the morning bridge
it was so much fun
to have a speaking french coffee
and a few crunchy croissants ...
Life was this delicious gobbledy gook !
Do you remember that summer in Ottawa
when faces had not silenced masks ?
You laughted in the acid of the cherries,
ruddy juice drawing a volcano
on your lips, ma cherie ,
that I savoured and carried away ,
vagabond on the carefree living brandons...
The sweetness of the indian summer
passing by without a glance
for the human that doesn't fly !
A flock of wild geeses heading south ...
It's winter in Ottawa ,
the window has closed ,
cold stare's totem , evil spell
and the white man arrived ...
You took your guitar
running away with Santa,
playing for the cats
running across the rooftops ,
so far from Ottawa ,
so close to my heart ...
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Comments4
A most beautiful mix of metaphor, fantasy, realities images of a place that exists but yet does not except in memories cast on the shores of love and desire where anything is possible and all things are fond shadows of the past. A hearty stew for a poet. Beautiful!
A little fiction and much of a fruity story !
I love Ottawa !
A love letter sealed in poetry — fragrant, tender, drifting in memory.
Memory drifting into a sepia shade ...
The lingering scent of a summer that may never return, but continues to live on in the folds of lyricism.
A feeling of fruity musicality !
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