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Steve Bucknell
Steve Bucknell
Ondine

Liquid underskirts, a moiré dress, a river couture,
clothed and unclothed she sees, she feels,
wrapped and unwrapped in the flow
turned over and over, streamed and posed,
washed and lifted, pushed and floated.
Baptised , named Ondine, dreamed of,
dishevelled, she will not hold still:
she coils and twists and unfurls,
she lives in her disarrayed hair,
loosened like purling silk.
Wet strands trailed across my mouth.
In water she pirouettes,
through water she rises,
the luminous currents glide in her head
with black ringlets for drowning,
with wet mouths for breathing and kissing.
She opens her legs to the flood,
we stand behind her and push upstream
through weirs and waterfalls,
tanneries and laundries,
mills and sluices and glistening locks.
She opens her face to each lascivious caress,
she opens her eyes in a rapture
of droplets and mirrors and days full of light.

Steve Bucknell. 08.06.14.
3 years ago. Edited 3 years ago.
Dominique-Lucy Renso… has replied to Steve Bucknell
Oooh merci, thank you.
It is incredible, it is like you where there... like if you knew my village by heart... mills taneries and laundries ... it is exactly that.
3 years ago.
Dominique-Lucy Renso… has added
it is beautiful to me, thank you again Steve
3 years ago.
Steve Bucknell
Steve Bucknell
Merci beaucoup, Dominique!
3 years ago.
Dominique-Lucy Renso… has replied to Steve Bucknell
all i had in mind while i was working on the photos, is in your poem ... like if you where in my eyes, i feel like i have won the bingo :D
3 years ago.
dolores666
dolores666
Oh, blimey!
3 years ago.
Steve Bucknell
Steve Bucknell
Exactement, mon cher Dolores!
3 years ago. Edited 3 years ago.