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Thread: Jacquelle

  1. #1
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    Jacquelle

    She met Matthieu in France,
    who embodied in look
    every French archetype
    in film or in book -
    tousled brown curls,
    a frame athletic and slim,
    a dark mole by his lip
    and sleepy way of speaking.
    In his Lyon apartment, so far from her Mid-West,
    they smoked in his kitchen
    in underwear with bare chests
    he tapped her nose
    and called her 'Poupée Américaine'
    when she butchered another French word, yet again.
    She wrote in emails home
    it seemed almost cliché
    to live out her first year in France
    in this way.
    Until one night he took her
    to the Place des Terreaux
    an artist he said she'd love
    was doing a show -
    and as the lights came down
    and the singer emerged
    at a glance she could see
    Matthieu ceased to be hers.
    Jacquelle.
    Bathed in a lights of red,
    a razor cut bob
    frames a delicate head,
    smoky eyes
    and a infant-esque voice
    that with the electro-synth
    was a definite choice.
    The off-shoulder crop,
    with the renaissance sleeves
    the pencil skirt that finishes
    just under her knees
    the gold coin pendant
    and ballet flats
    the studied little movements
    on beat -
    this way, then that.
    'Je danse sur mon propre tambour
    Mais si vous aimez aussi danser
    Puis avant que la nuit ne se transforme en jour
    On peut s'amuser'

    If you cast an eye across the room -
    and she did, blood running cold -
    you'd not be unwise to assume
    on Jacquelle's axis earth revolved.
    Grown men transfixed - and Matthieu too -
    miming along as the spell-bound do,
    not turning to engage her between the songs
    not breaking his gaze all gig long....
    and when
    at last
    Jacquelle did end,
    thanking all those who could attend
    Matthieu whistled with such force
    the rage within her broke and coursed -
    consumed her entirely their bike ride home
    where she sped up ahead, alone.
    When they reached, he turned and smiled,
    to meet her glassy stare
    - in bed she shifted to the edge
    imagining Jacquelle there.
    In her dream a smug-faced Jacquelle sang,
    from on the stage
    to her French man -
    descended down into the crowd
    as she screamed and railed and howled,
    drowned out by little baby songs
    ignored, throughout, by everyone
    who watched Jacquelle and Matthieu duet
    and kiss and cuddle
    tease and pet
    until both sang into her face
    hands wrapped around each other's waist.

    Copyright Yafeu-Khamisi Rodway-Brown

  2. #2
    Registered User tailor STATELY's Avatar
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    Enjoyed. Amazed at the stage you set... the poetics and word play is wonderful.

    Ta ! (short for tarradiddle),
    tailor
    tailor

    who am I but a stitch in time
    what if I were to bare my soul
    would you see me origami

    7-8-2015

  3. #3
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    Dec 2017
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    115
    This scene was so alive in my mind, Im just so angry with Matthieu! Errgh! LOL, hasnt every girl felt this way though.

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