The syrup sky cracked, and blood ran out There was no one, not even a moose about There’ll be no rest for the sun today The long summer solstice is still on it’s way
When I read Misky’s Twiglet #153 for the week, ‘syrup sky’ I was instantly transported to the silent dawns in Healy. The sleepy sun just barely cresting the horizon after a hard days work. Kind of gives new meaning to the phrase, ‘crack of dawn’.
“If My Lady would indulge me.” He bows smartly at the waist, his pampered palm outstretched. Every rule of decency demands, I must elegantly accept.
His spit shine and neatened whiskers a blatant effrontery of couth, as ill intention sweet as succor slips, past lewd lascivious lips.
I smile through risen bile, endure his heated breath upon my nape. As stripped of everything but, title, all propriety be damned, I do as desperation dictates- and oblige- this deplorable ilk of man.
dread of derision erases all decorum impropriety ensues
It’s been awhile since I participated in Colleen’s Tanka Tuesday #synonymsonly. This weeks words Grace and Style however fed right my recent obsession with viewing all six seasons of Downton Abbey in their entirety- again- and I just had to try my hand.