MAX & MISS MODRISS.

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Riddles  |  House: Booksie Classic
A MAN AND HIS BOOKISH DAME.

Submitted: May 01, 2010

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Submitted: May 01, 2010

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Miss Modriss didn’t
Mind the odd tickle
And kiss, Max finds.

Different things occupy
Different minds; hers
Was Dostoevsky and

The Russian novel with
Ballet thrown in on the
Sidelines. Max sits beside

Her as she turns the pages,
Her eyes focussing hard
On the printed word, her

Thumb and finger holding
Gently the edge of the page.
He holds a foreign cigarette

Between two stained fingers,
The smoke rising, looking
Over her shoulder at the two

Mounds of breast, musing
How he’d like his head to
Rest softly there and her

Scent, some French perfume
He’s bought, fills his nose,
Arouses his passion. He

Gambled a lot, she says,
Her voice edging towards
Disapproval, her dark eyes

Turning towards Max. Who?
Max asks. Dostoevsky, she
Replies, gambled, but seeing

He wrote such excellent books,
One feels one ought to forgive.
Live and let live, Max says,

Watching her finger and thumb
Bend the corner of the page
And close the book and give

Him a steely look. A sin is still
A sin, despite a virtue here and
There, she crossly says, placing

Dostoevsky beside her thigh.
Max wishes he wrote novels
Like that, so that he too could

Be gently placed next to her
Elongated leg and simply lay.


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