Monthly Archives: June 2014

“Breakfast by the Pond”

Morning, Love, would you like coffee or tea with your juice?
I’m feeling summer romance this morning, can I turn it loose?

Fresh waters, fresh air, fresh fruit . . . a fresh kiss
Let’s cue the weekend with a little open-air bliss

Turn your phablet off, I’ll put the Wall St. Journal away
We’ll be selfish with each other, my Love, what do you say?

Take in the oceanscape, exhale the turbulence of the week
Is it true that in every woman lives a quiet freak?

. . . suppressed by convention, imprisoned by womanly virtue
Just put your hands on me, no violation, I certainly won’t sue

I’ll welcome the sensual harassment, may even crave a little more
Let me feed you this papaya and show you that I adore

The soft reflection of sunlight glistening about your skin
I’m so into you, woman, I may contact your next-of-kin

To let ’em know not to worry about your Friday whereabouts
What I have in store for you is what a man-in-love touts:

Romantic breakfast by the pond, a further deepening of our bond
enjoying nature’s breathtaking amenities of which we are so fond

Fruit morsels sweet and tender, I’m admiring your every chew
Your personal feeder consider me as I elevate my woo

A Pamper-Her-Friday poem I wrote, authored from the heart
Ease back and relax as I indulge you in its start:

“How do I pamper thee? Let me count the ways
Ceaseless are my efforts and endless are the days,
Of thoughts of you, having bid adieu to virtueless loves ago
Together we’ll reap the bounty of a higher romance we sow . . .”

With clear-blue waters beneath us and pristine skies above
Let the romance begin
It’s Pamper-Her-Friday, Love

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***

Pamper the woman . . . and forever is her romance. -Rg2

© 2014 Pamper-Her-Friday by Rg2®

image: by isus

(For the Ladies, a special pampering)

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Say, Beautiful, I’ve made all the necessary (and unnecessary) arrangements. I’m going in to work today. But you certainly need not.

This is what I want you to do: Invoice me for your day’s salary, commission, sales percentage, overtime, per diem . . . whatever the monetary case may be for what otherwise would be fair compensation for your normal day’s work. Any surcharges, just because, are fine by me.

I got you, Love.

Close the shop. Tell your clients it’s Pamper-Her-Friday and you’re the designated Pamperee.

Shut down the online grid for the day; you’ve got enough followers on the social media; your constant brand promotion can survive a down day; power down the iPad and handset for the remainder of the day.

The kids? I’ve got the sitter arranged and the tickets for LegoLand; they can go lego-crazy–build some inventions, explore their imaginations, water-play all day, ’til their hearts’ content.

Meanwhile, I want you to de-stress, decompress, come out the dress and expose those lovely legs, arms, and shoulders to a little sunsplash and then palm shade . . . by calm waters.

I’ve got a novel I want you to sink your mind into: “Would You Mind Company the Rest of Your Life?”–a romantic heartwrencher and riveter unlike anything you’ve ever literarily experienced.

In the paper today I read that women are now the hardest workers in the global economy, your value–per capita, per family, per household, per small business, per relationship–has now become so vital to the economic landscape as to be incalculable.

It only reinforced what I already knew, especially as it applies to you.

It’s about worth. Not work.

Which is why I honor you today with a whatever-you-want day.

Relax, my sweet. And be ready for more over the weekend.

Why?

It’s Pamper-Her-Friday, Love.

Considerately,
xoxo

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***

Pamper the woman . . . she needs it. -Rg2

© 2014 Pamper-Her-Friday by Rg2®

My Summer Love,

Remember the white linen soirée? Can you believe it was a summer ago that we discovered one another? 

I don’t use the word lightly–discovery. Treasure finds are rare anymore, seems. This open society in which we live, this highly social society of which we’re a part leaves little for serendipity, seems.

Perhaps we could’ve met in a chat. Or on a dating match. I might’ve invited you to the Coffee Klatch for a frappe-over-conversation. Certainly nothing wrong with that.

But there you were, draped in silken ivory flow, the white blossom nestled in your hair, part island girl, part meadow girl, all enchanting woman whom a romance writer would be inspired to create a story around.

And then you spilled your drink on me accidentally. You apologized so earnestly, forgiveness was never a question on my part. Besides, the cranberry hue of your pomtini coordinated well on my white linen shirt, no?

The smile I brokered upon your face spoke to me, whispered to me something I couldn’t quite let go. I didn’t intend to monopolize your time there, but it seemed we talked until a full moon appeared, urging us to continue.

Two more martinis, slow and meticulous our sips, and the mutual laughter came with ease. You found my life interesting; I found yours intriguing, We both solicited a little more about the other–discovery in full bloom. Under full moon.

Remember when I asked about love as imagery? If your ideal love were a house, what would it be and where would it exist? You replied, “a quaint country cottage by the lake . . . green, low-carbon, solar, eco-sustaining, surrounded by fruit trees and a vegetable garden.”

Impressed I was.

“If your ideal love were a vehicle, what?”

You didn’t hesitate, “Ford Fusion hybrid.”

Wow, I thought to myself. “Are you really that practical?”

You took a sip of the pomtini and cracked, “OK, maybe an Aston Martin DB9 coupe.”

We both burst in laughter. Practicality has its limits after all, right?

And then, out of the blue, you asked me if I loved and respected both my mother and father–your eyes glistening in the moonglow yet piercing with a sharp curiosity, all laughter aside. You meant the question.

I pulled out the vintage photo of my parents on their wedding day in ’65. I found myself staring at it, much more than you, without words. Something in you understood.

And then I asked for your hand in a dance . . . to make up for the spilled drink.
It was summer magic under the stars.

Remember that night? The white linen soirée of a summer to remember.

Well, I figured our romance theme for this summer should be “impracticality, within reason.”

I’ve recreated the soirée but only you and I are the guests this time around. Meet me by the pool, I’ve got a little something of a surprise for you to go along with our lake cottage, babygirl.

Why?

It’s Pamper-Her-Friday, Love.

Ever yours,
Rg2

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***

Romance lives. -Rg2

© 2014 Pamper-Her-Friday by Rg2®

image: by bigboss007

“It’s You, Love”

I sense something in the air
. . . something sensual is in the air,
Is that your fragrance once bottled?
Blow a kiss across the ocean, woman–a pair:

One for each dimple on either side of my face
Character marks you remember from grade school,
My e-notes printed in ink you shan’t erase
You in a summer floral wrap–I won’t drool . . .

. . . until after dusk, moon high, palm fronds
swaying to the rhythms of night winds,
Can I bathe you? . . . I found us a secret pond
One limb at a time’s how I do it–two gins

Poured slowly, chased with hints of coconut sweet
I’ll dip your fingers in my glass,
I’m the master of the slow-motion nibble
Now hang on while I rotate the ass

Palm-cupped underwater, it may get a bit hotter
Aquatic intimacy has no equal,
No, I’m nothing of a globe love-trotter
But summer’s our season–it’s time for the sequel

It’s you; yes, woman, it’s you
You had no business being so lovely,
You’re not one to emote on demand, it’s true
But fair warning: Wait ’til I rub thee

There’s a right and a wrong way to touch a woman
There’s an art to timing her ripe,
Your eyes give permission to clutch you, woman
Those tears of summer joy I’ll wipe

Away and away and away we’ll go
venturing to the ends of the shore,
Making jealous the waves as they rustle and flow
and footprints a little deeper than before

You want it with me? Well, come and get me
But hurry, love, El Niño’s on its way,
Tropical rains nonstop like a fable Aesop
won’t keep our summer love at bay

It’s you . . . woman, it’s you
to whom my innermost intimacies belong,
It’s Pamper-Her-Friday on the eve of summer
You’ve got me singing a brand new song . . .

It’s You.

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Pamper the woman . . . like a summer never ending. -Rg2

© 2014 Pamper-Her-Friday by Rg2®

On Vocals: The Irrepressible Kem