Monthly Archives: October 2012

It’s Pamper-Her-Friday, my Love–in lieu of flowers
I offer my autumn romance,
Before you assume you aren’t worthy of lilies
and dare to look askance . . .

Listen to my voice as I recite what
my candid heart has written,
The first line may be the most evocative
The last stanza affirms I’m smitten,

Somewhere between a throwback gentleman
and a modern renaissance man,
Label me what you will, no matter,
I’m ready to take the stand,

In defense of men who misunderstand
the art of woman-treating,
The last of a dying breed I’m not
But here’s a nugget worth repeating:

Patient talks and paced autumn walks,
Let’s not cease touching hands,
Relationships are not predisposed to failure
unless we neglect to dance,

Not only to music but the rustle of leaves
that rain from October skies,
There’s a bench I’ve scouted near the edge of
Park Place for the lyrics in your eyes,

Will you meet me? How will you greet me?
Will the elation be subdued?
Or will you let it go, that it may overflow
I may elicit the sweetest taboo mood,

When Harry met Sally it wasn’t a given
their relationship would evolve,
What they wanted at 20 would differ at 40
Romance not enough to solve,

Friendship cultivates for longevity’s sake
and the kiss will find its way,
No assumptions I’ll make and no liberties I’ll take
But we can’t keep this thing at bay,

It’s Pamper-Her-Friday, Love.

Image: by floridapfe

Forgive me, Love, my late arrival
I couldn’t make it on Friday,
I understand your disappointment
But let me have my say

On second thought, my creative actions will speak more persuasively than words,
Come stand next to me by the window
and have a gander at the skybirds

Yes, they’re on their southward migration
having made plans for the winter,
I took a cue from their foresight
and to you shall I render

An autumn kiss for Sunday evening bliss
but that’s only the start,
I need you to disrobe your tender limbs
and bare all dermal parts

It’s time for luxo-hydro therapy
infused with subtle aromatics,
I’m ready for some touchy-feely comedy
and take-our-time sexual dramatics

So you were disaffected by Barack’s debate performance?
No worries, he’ll turn it around,
Now focus on what I’m bringing to the stage tonight
’cause, woman, it’s about to go down

Dip, easy, toe first, Love,
Tell me, how does that feel?
Let’s submerge just a little bit lower
and don’t withhold your inner zeal

Because try, try, and try as you might
never could you conceal,
Your body cannot hide the truth
For I’m the healer of its ills

Gaze into the flames for a moment
and share with me what you see,
A simple fire under containment?
Or do your autumn emotions run free?

Forgive my hands and fingers, babygirl,
they’ve a mind of their own,
Oh, you like it there . . . what about there?
Careful, I might awaken an ero-zone

Wait a moment now, woman, this is
suppose to be Sunday evening therapy,
I simply wanted to relax you
But, Mmm, how you take care of me

What is it? You wish tomorrow wasn’t
a back-to-work day?
I feel you, but there’s a silver lining:
Next Pamper-Her-Friday . . . .

***

Pamper the woman and yours is her Autumn Romance. -Rg2

© 2012 Pamper-Her-Friday by Rg2®

6:59 p.m. PST
“Where do you want to meet?” he asks, detecting the thinness in her voice, its veiled regret discernible.
“Wherever you suggest,” she replies.
“There’s a coffee house on the corner of 5th and Main. Half an hour?”
“OK.”
It was her fourth call, and two unanswered letters, finally getting through. He cared about her fervently at

one time. But she was still sorting things out–love interests at both edges of the country, a career in flux,

a borderline arrogance born of her camera looks, and a mother who didn’t respect her father.
She walks into the coffee shop and is immediately taken by his presence at a bar table not far from the entrance. He stands. Dressed in jeans and stylish tweed blazer over top a woven charcoal turtleneck,

he’d evolved into the figure she’d anticipated–tall, understatedly handsome and approachable, his eyes noticeably guarded as ever.
“How are you?” he says, extending his arms to embrace her.
She needed the warm welcome.
“I’m well, thank you. It’s so good to see you.”
“Our coffees should be up any minute. I ordered Irish Cream blend. You use to like it that way.”
“I do, still,” she says, a smile finding its way to her lips. He greets it in kind.
“You look great,” he gives, “obviously taking care of yourself.”
“I’m trying.”
A nervous pause intervenes.
“And you? It looks like you haven’t had a bad day in years, if ever.”
“If only I were so lucky,” he turns away from her eyes. “The trick is to not let on, right?”
He excuses himself to the counter for their drinks. She trails him visually, studying his physical language, the broad shoulders, the strong yet measured steps, the gentle confidence. He places the cups midway between them, steam whirling before her and the Colombian beans persuasively aromatic. Beyond the the glass-paneled walls, gray clouds gather and a light rainfall appears.
“Has love been kind to you?” he breaks the silence.
“Not always. But I guess it makes no promises, does it?”
Vocalist Michael Bublé intones from the ceiling speakers and entrances the entirety of the coffee den. The song does something to her. To them both.
“I haven’t heard from you in years.”
She can’t find words. Until they find her.
“I didn’t know how to say goodbye.”
“I guess you didn’t,” he agrees.
More than a decade ago, she came to him heart-wounded. Forsaken by her boyfriend and unable to trust her friendgirls, she found him to be a refuge. He invited her to his place, gave her his bed, fed her chicken lentil soup and herbal tea. And, as if a seasoned soother, he read her a bedtime love story, supplanting her name for the heroine’s–to her enchantment. And held her throughout that storied night.
She awoke not totally healed but less wounded–and forever touched by the man.
“That night still lives in me,” she reveals. He sets his eyes on hers, acknowledging the revelation without words. “I’ll never forget it. Your spirit. You pampered me like a fairytale.”
He lowers his eyes to his cup and then resumes his gaze of her.
“I really didn’t want you to leave. But I took the moment for more than what it was. You were my responsibility for only a night.”
A gloss appears over her eyes, a helpless haze that admits to what her heart still feels. A helpless regret that surfaces as her eyes take hold of the wedding band on his finger.
“I wear it in remembrance,” he says. “I lost her two years ago to breast cancer.”
“I’m so sorry,” her empathy genuine.
“She loved me. But she wasn’t in love with me. And I guess I truly wasn’t either. We had learned to put aside the difference . . . and made it work.”
“Was there anyone else that you were truly carrying?”
He pauses while Bublé inspires a moment of reflection, resting his eyes on hers once again.
“I think you know the answer to that.” He looks at his watch and determines he’d taken up more time than anticipated. “I better go. I’m sure you’ve got things to do this evening. I didn’t want you to get caught in the rain. It was wonderful seeing you again.”
He relinquishes the coffee cup from has hand, takes a final gaze of her eyes and motions to unseat himself.
“I need to know,” she beckons, thrusting the words from her mouth as if they’d been caged far too long.
“Why? That woman went away years ago without so much as a goodbye.”
Her eyes fall from his. The hurt still evident.
“But you were always on my mind.”
Her eyes lift at the lifeline. Bublé’s vocals trail off.
“Make me your responsibility. Give me that moment again. I’ve waited years.”
He takes her hand and escorts her out into the night’s rainfall.
Little did she know, he’d been waiting, too.

***

Second Chance. Second Autumn. Romance. -Rg2

© 2012 Pamper-Her-Friday by Rg2®

Love, I think I understand why romance

has failed so many,

Could it be they’ve looked past the

smaller blessings aplenty?

Like leaves in fall and the beauty of it all

Are we ever truly satisfied?

I didn’t qualify for the hi-rise condo

But God knows I certainly tried

I wanted to impress you, finesse you,

but my heart really wasn’t there,

I want an abode to put love into

A place needing of some repair

Like a woman on the verge of

terminating her love-search,

Seeking freedom from heartache

and all men besmirched

No, no, come on now, you’re

too intelligent to generalize,

When we held hands, it was spiritual

And you began to empathize

I feel at times I’m a fish sans water

A man apart from the crowd,

My words are deliberately soft spoken

But, for you, I love out loud

Because it’s autumn, babygirl

We’ll call it a second spring,

When every leaf is a flower

a bouquet for you I’ll bring

You see, I don’t take the seasons for granted

And neither will I you,

I bought a home on a tree-lined postcard

from a Michael Landon point of view:

A little love, a little tenderness, a little

count-our-blessings romance,

Autumn’s special Pamper-Her-Friday

So may I share with you my plans?

Let’s value less those things material

and get back to honest living,

Breathe in one another’s oxygen

Our mistakes we’ll be forgiving

I’ve made my home a sanctuary

Warm and safe among its attributes,

I’ll sweep the leaves to clear your pathway

and we’ll replenish our romantic roots

For autumn wants us close together

to appreciate its majestic colors,

To awe the wonders of season’s change

and enhance our lives as sacred lovers

It’s Pamper-Her-Friday, Love

My bay window offers an enchanting sight

I’m making a fire and unfolding a blanket

For you, my autumn girl, tonight.

***

A woman is most romantic in Autumn. -Rg2

 

© 2012 Pamper-Her-Friday by Rg2®