Under the Red Umbrella
UNDER THE RED UMBRELLA
Under the red umbrella, sheltered in our rainy day nest,
my coal black heel lifts — our oneness beats in my chest.
Handsome in his dark suit, like an iron I press close —
my full-bodied lips a crimson shade, now our his, I suppose.
He calls me his wild Paris rose on these streets of shimmering gold.
The blush rushes to my cheeks and eyes — to him I’m sold.
Between the french kisses...ooh la la...we make lover’s jokes.
The circus tent of our wide-brimmed umbrella drips and soaks.
His fingers, like rain, touch my face, lift my chin, make me see him.
In turn my eyes dive into his, our green and blues take a swim,
turning teal as we ponder marriage with a family, life and love.
Vulnerable, I feel my nakedness as I remove my black silk gloves.
Under this unforgettable crimson cloud, we no longer hide,
except from the prying eyes of Paris la ville des lumières pride
My red dress clings, its waist slim, its curves vivacious — not shy.
Together two orphans stay dry — our passionate fire will not die.
11/3/2018
The Red Umbrella Poetry Contest
Sponsor - Eve Roper
Paris la ville des lumières - Pa ree la veel day loo me air - Paris the city of lights
(Approximate pronunciation, apologies to the French)
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