An' like chalk and cheese yeah we'll shoot the breeze, button fingers, fancy tickled, gleeful abandon, how her hair tumbled free of its pins - how there were sudden dashes - whenever we spoke, Loud like . . ., Once upon a Cloud, pantaloon passion, Saga, She read me like a book But I'm hiding in the small print, skyrockets in flight - afternoon delight, steamgalleoned, Story, Tales from the Troposphere, Time in a bottle, we'll lay on the grass and let the hours pass, Your sun it shines
I’m having some fun at her expense, yet it is gentle in nature; the aim, to bring forth a smile, perhaps even a soft laugh, for she knows me now and my off-centre ways. With others my tongue will cut and scythe away, for I am at times sharp. Too sharp; inordinately so. I suffer a fool not for one moment; time is precious, the century gains speed and I’ll not have a second of it wasted upon boorish buffoons. Not twice, anyway.
We lie on top of Keppel Hill, our picnic consumed with relish only moments ago, and now, with our stomachs well satiated, and our backs to the grassy knoll, we banter and laugh. Badinage caroms back and forth with clear delight; occasionally we tear our gaze from each other to view the wide, vivid blue sky above, with its peppering of near pulchritudinous nomads — the clouds. As captivating a display of nimbus as ever did I observe.
The sun plays, its rays dancing their way over our bodies, and our hands casually emulate. Lazy arousal with intent. My nose wrinkles at the wildflower pollen in the air, and I sneeze like some kind of demented limb-flinging hyena, setting off her giggles yet again, to which I add my own with pleasure.
If I remember naught else as I age, I wish to hold today close to me, bookmark this page of my life and harbour it within. For this, this is some manner of effortless, flowing happiness on tap, but for the briefest of spans, a rare and helpless kind. And my cynical self — locked away at present in a tidy cupboard at the back of my mind — whispers slyly that anything this perfect is too good to be true. Mayhap this is the case, if so then I’ll treasure it all the more. Yet for the moment I must stop this chattering analysis of the exalted and simply live it. Love it.
My eyes water with laughter, the joyous lachrymal, and I glance again at the sky, only to see a lofty steam galleon soar elegantly across the firmament. My smile broadens . . . for I too soar in the high-blown clouds of today.
For those who are new to the Cloud, please read the information at the following link regarding the Simulcast Fragments. Thank you – Esme