Rake For Love

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Romance  |  House: Booksie Classic
A rhythmic short dialogue with my self over a theoretical pursuit of a woman. It's not a poem meant to rhyme, or really have any metre, just a writing exercise that sounds poetic.

Submitted: November 25, 2014

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Submitted: November 25, 2014

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~~ Maybe it was the rain that fell: the damp cascade of of midnight drizzle that slicked the cobblestone and made the crack moss sing with a verde tone, captured so elegantly by the eye and a traveler's lens. Perhaps the Cuban cigars, french wine, and soft tone image of a woman beautifully stolen in the evening blaze made me question never settling in one place longer than and afternoon siesta. I could have been Nerea in Barcelona, Aurore in Marseille, Alessia from Genoa, or any woman born by the grace of Aphrodite. But the thrill of the chase, an adrenaline adventure of lust and intrigue, and the continual pursuit of freedom ignited by the despair of a lost lover drove me to continue and run. Whether I was the pursuer or the victim, I ran with desideration. The elusive debutante of youth, perhaps just a visage of a being whom I once new, fled in a path undeterred by earthly temptation, and, in my feeble attempt to capture her in a swathe of adolescent adoration, I was drawn astray. Many a gypsy I knew not the next morning. I was a man, of course, and young. And young men rake for love, I suppose.


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