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Pale Cortes

by Mac 

Posted: 23 September 2004
Word Count: 103

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I loved you in an inky black womb. Outside, Barcelona sighed pollution from heaving lungs, laughed, wept and bickered. In our sanctum all was still, save for the movement of our limbs stretching to find a cool oasis on sheets warmed by our bodies and late summer heat. My fingertips and lips charted the deserts and terrains of your skin, crossing a rivulet of sweat that caressed the contour of your breast. You were unconquerable and I was a pale Cortes. These seconds dripped away into the ocean of my life like drops of brilliant scarlet dye. An exclamation mark in my memory.

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Comments by other Members

ShayBoston at 10:32 on 23 September 2004  Report this post
Very fine words, Mac. 'These seconds dripped away into the ocean of my life', I particularly like. Should there be a comma after 'all was still'?


Mac at 11:11 on 23 September 2004  Report this post
Yes. And i've now comma-tised the piece. Cheers Shay.

SamMorris at 14:00 on 23 September 2004  Report this post
Hi Mac,

This is a very powerful piece, a vivid moment in time. There is something poised and poetic about it all. I do have to admit to having no idea what a Cortes is though. That's probably because I'm not the sharpest knife in the draw, but there you go!

All the best


Anj at 14:11 on 23 September 2004  Report this post

This is lovely - beautiful, but not unmanly. I wasn't sure about the first sentence, but apart from that .... sigh


Take care

Account Closed at 16:33 on 23 September 2004  Report this post
Very evocative Mac.

Just the word Barcelona makes it sound exotic.


anisoara at 21:54 on 23 September 2004  Report this post
Beautifully erotic. Much fine language, though in my opinion the final three lines are particularly striking. And I can relate.


crowspark at 22:50 on 23 September 2004  Report this post
Very poetic with a fine choice of words. Made me think of John Donne's poems. Liked the idea of it being set in Barcelona and the pale Cortes exploring new lands.


crazylady at 00:27 on 24 September 2004  Report this post
Thank you

MissP at 19:32 on 26 September 2004  Report this post
He Comes Not

He comes not when Noon is on the roses--
Too bright is Day.
He comes not to the Soul till it reposes
From work and play.

But when Night is on the hills, and the great Voices
Roll in from Sea,
By starlight and candle-light and dreamlight
He comes to me.

P xx

Mac at 06:44 on 27 September 2004  Report this post
Hmmm. Do I know you Miss P?

paul53 [for I am he] at 17:00 on 13 March 2005  Report this post
A piece of Flash Fiction found in the Random Read, or an astonishingly good poem shaped into a paragraph?

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