Poetry (43)

Hello Escritori,

Honestly, I think this is some form of cry for help. I write poetry about God, love, moral philosophy and Greek Mythology…. and the desires of inanimate objects.

It’s really got to stop. This will probably be the last one because I’m too much of a saddo romantic for words. But it is funny. I’ll let you know when I’ve married some urbane Jordanian Prince/adorable Classics Professor from Egypt and calmed down.



The Perfect Man

He has a voice

Which conveys the same kind of feeling

That the scent of freshly ground coffee

Ignites inside your nasal passages.


A  strange, adventuresome,

Wakefulness and tingling

And a tenderness

Enveloping and lingering.


His voice has  the caramel tone

Of buttered toast.

It growls in a low register

That sits like treacle in my bones.

Warmer, lower and darker

Almost; than satisfaction.


All of this hummed

And resonated to me

Alongside his physicality:

Spare, virile, neat and male.

In every contour

The promise

Of deliciousness.



At least…

That’s just what I imagine

If he were real

Instead of sedate


In chocolate shoes

And on my plate.


Because any woman

Will tell you

When all’s said and done

That the only

Truly perfect man

Is a gingerbread one.


(© Copyright Pola Negri, 23/04/2016.)


7 thoughts on “Poetry (43)

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