Deborah Gordon wants nothing fancy


Down on the nudist beach –
Holding hands.

Drumming up stories,
Lies and fantasies
Of some neat country,
Some, arcane hemisphere
You are hoping to take me to
Late summer,

When the air is fresher
And the sea is more clear
And the mermaids appear,
In their dozens,
Not far from the rock
In opulent ball gowns

Spinning askew through the pebbles

As the sun deadens,
And the old guy
Flashes his cock.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Nothing Fancy

She needs and she loves
Only this –

Those ‘kissable stockings’
The ones from Selfridges
Sweet edged –

Easy over leg
To feel what you’ve picked
And a black silk dress,

Slipping apart at the threads;
Dissolving on her body

Nothing fancy.

Deborah Gordon
says “I am a Sussex-based writer of poetry and
prose and have been writing since the age of seven. My style is quite
eclectic and I love the concept of
movement in poetry. I have had recent  work published with Inclement, Phoenix, The Journal,  Garbaj, Sarasvati, The Dawn Treader, Fire  and  Again Last Night. My first collection of poetry The Bluebells Pray (Indigo Dreams Press) is available now.”

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