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Allie is delicate and gentle, waif-like in her presence.  Her luminescent smile frames an image that seems so lighthearted. A sense of reality cannot disguise my enamored, whimsical feelings. I rhapsodize her essence in my affectionate mind excursions.  She possesses a spirit that’s vivacious. Her perky, pretty and cheerful persona radiates a zest for life that is contagious.

     I long to make her mine, but she prefers to bask in the adulation of suitors waiting for their one chance. They hover around her like worker bees hoping to get just one glimpse of the queen bee.  They are all imagining a fanatical fling as she begins a seductive dance. Allie’s flirtatious moves are alluring and her bright smiles are bewitching. The midday sun frames her splendor in the gardens of our minds.

     The sheer elegance of Allie’s natural beauty beckoned all who cast their idolatrous eyes upon her appealing features. As I embraced her I was graced with a scent mindful of the freshest and sweetest of wild flowers. I became stimulated and aroused in her presence.  Her curvaceous figure is tantalizing and inviting, breathtaking to behold.

Other women even admire her flashy style which is marked by a treasured tattoo, a popular design now in vogue that in the more timid of souls is often hidden from public view.  A flamboyant, colorful butterfly resides on her shoulder and it makes her feel playfully chic.  For young women today, no longer is body art a passing craze. Its uniqueness is a form that stays with them, its brilliant colors are never considered passé.

     Allie’s soft whispers bridged past fantasies with the present, connecting the deepest valleys of our devotion.  No longer did we have to run from cherished desires as our passion is now flushed with a faithful emotion.  Some of our dreams were realized and some were forgotten but fiery promises on a steamy, summer night flaunted our feelings, taking our breath away. We now share pulsating reflections, not just petty sound bites. Like wafting grains of sand, each passionate expression liltingly spoke to our lascivious thoughts.

     My parents are old school.  Tattoos were something that drunken sailors, bikers and prison inmates would fashion.  Piercings were only for the ears of women or pirates.  It was never imagined they would show up on tongues, nipples, navels and genitalia.

     Upon meeting Allie, Mom zeroed in on the obvious. Mom immediately focused her attention on Allie’s tattoo and her pierced tongue.  These immediately translated into an icy stare sent my way.  Allie of course was her charming self, but the dye was cast and in Mom’s eyes this girl was not a keeper.

     Mother always cautioned me that love is fleeting and when relations sour, a heart can be broken and an innocent soul devoured.  In a few words Mom sternly shared sober thoughts.

     “John, Allie can be alluring by day and a vixen at night. Her sweetness is designed to excite but in an instant she will betray your deepest secrets that you freely conveyed.”

     The baby boomer generation is cynically aged, and they are confused by what they see.  They just can’t fathom this free art form which takes good taste to a twisted degree. Tramp stamps, boob-atoos and nipple rings, are they sexual lures or rites of passage?  They are openly displayed and not obscure, no longer are they shunned to a backstage.
     With bewildered, downcast eyes they strain to view these emblems that the sweet dreams of the younger generations have spawned.  To the boomers they are vexing problems of propriety.  Vile flames of gold emblazon every visible part of one’s body. They adorn the fairest of torsos and some reveal depictions of sadness that crazy colors cannot erase. Snakes, skulls, devils and dragons are signs of death's unholy glow.  In a painful and evil way they seem to elicit memories of a circus sideshow.
     Discretion seems to inhibit their spirit and demure demeanor is long passé. These illustrated badges are prized the way the boomers prized their woven patches, buttons and pins.  In the past, emblems and badges were collected and placed in cigar boxes, but today they are displayed on one’s anatomy in a garish style.
     Today, mainstream culture tempers its long held staid perspectives as a butterfly, flower or angel are now gracing menopausal fugitives of previous generations. As I imagine this scene, I cringe when I think of my dearest mother succumbing to the hypnotic pull of an angelic tattoo on a place that only Dad could see. That would be nightmarish, an image I could not contemplate.  However, for the older people in my life would it be a mid-life crisis or rebellion that they espouse to revere and flaunt or do they seek a new identity, a wacky dignity that’s sure to haunt?

     Reality is no longer black and white and dreams have become deliriously hued. The age of innocence long ago died and simply ran out of time. 

     Parental advisories aside, I moved onward like an eagle stalking its prey. With her consuming, sensual hugs and hypnotic emerald eyes, Allie heightened my desire for a delectable surprise.  However I soon sensed a change in her motions. A rising, vacillating demeanor delivered a cautionary sign. Her evasive persona surreptitiously tread a stark, cagy line.  This transient, amorous masquerade was a bewitching disguise, a contrived camouflage that veiled stinging, incongruous lies.

     “John, things change and when I get impulsive and restless I need to listen to the voices that I hear when twilight greets the dark of night. Sometimes I feel like a wildflower that is totally alive and free wherever a gentle breeze carries me.”

     “But Allie, I just want to be close to you. I understand that young hearts sometimes need to run free but why now? How can you walk away from love?”

     “Do yourself a favor and stop living for the love of me; with me you would only be running against the wind. Memories of me will soon fade into yesterday’s sunset and I will be just senseless graffiti on the walls of your mind.”

     “Please give me one more chance. I want to hold you in my arms for just one more dance.”

     “John our emotions have never been in rhythm. We are out of step. You’re just not the guy who could master the sensual theatrics of a barefoot ballet.”

     “I’m just one song on your romantic playlist, you’ll have many more to delight you. Look to the horizon and love will find you.”

     Allie moved on like a butterfly floating from one flower to another, always looking for the largest stamen for her tongue to swirl. While fluttering her eyes she hoped to find the next wellspring of sweet delight.

     My spirit is now broken and disheartened and this deflated ego triggered an empty, perilous descent. Feeling empty and hollow, I soon crashed as dark shadows masked rainbows’ glow. My shattered senses are in shock, trapped in an opaque fog and my once lucid imaginations have aborted, no longer are they poetic, no longer do they rhyme.

     As I try to regain my focus, my best friend Bill hit me with cautionary words.

     “Beware of fleeting, alluring hot chicks with saccharine smiles, they will only lead you down a potholed path which will be hazardous for endless miles.”

     “But Bill, I said, I hope for a new beginning to revive my fragmented soul. My days of epicurean crusades are over and I promise I will not fall victim to sultry femme fatales whose only game is to incite my virile cravings. I pray for blessed deliverance from the vixens and their veiled lies. A nice, calm and classy girl is what I want.”

     In the background I could hear the echoes of waves pounding the shoreline, melodically cascading over images I once again hope to adore.  I wish that these dark, gloomy clouds will drift away and my recent sorrowful strains will soon be washed away by the buffeting waves retreating to the sea. 

 

End

I began my serious writing in August of 1998 after having been a victim of a freak accident in which I had a near-death experience. A second chance at life has given me unique perspectives on family, spirituality and life which have all tinged my writing. I have published five books of poetry, Serendipitous Mindscapes; Barefoot Ballet; Hued Horizons; Dream-Hunters; and Fate's Haven. I am an active member of two Writers Groups in New Jersey and I am a graduate of Heidelberg University, BA and New York University, MA.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


 


 

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