Friday, April 18, 2008

Pardon My French


I wrote a poem.
Musings on a potential future lover.
No one in particular.
Just where my mind went while I was in the Safeway produce aisle a few days ago.
I translated it into French, using Babelfish.
Then I translated it back into English.

Quand je suis au magasin d'épicerie et les fraises ont lieu dans la saison, je pense à sélectionner les baies les plus rouges et les plus mûres et les alimenter à mon amoureux dans le lit.

Quand c'est un beau jour, je pense à la façon dont gentil il devrait s'étendre dans un pré, faisant une sieste avec mon amoureux, et lisant des livres ensemble.

Une nuit claire, je pense au sujet de ce que serait il comme au stargaze de mon baquet chaud, et contemple l'univers, les bras de mon amoureux enroulés autour de moi.

La nuit quand je vais dormir, j'allume mon côté gauche, et imagine mon amoureux derrière moi, m'embrassant, mettant en forme de tasse mon sein dans une main, le reste de nos doigts et des jambes entertwined, peu embrasse décorer mon cou.


When I am with the store of grocer and the cutters take place in the season, I think of selecting the reddest bays and ripest and of feeding them with my in love in the bed.

When it is one fine day, I think of the way in which nice it should extend in pre, making a nap with my in love, and reading books together.

One night clear, I think about what it as with the stargaze of my hot bucket would be, and contemplates the universe, the arms of my in love rolled up around me.

The night when I will sleep, I light my left side, and imagines my in love behind me, embracing, formatting of cup my centre in a hand to me, the remainder of our fingers and legs entertwined, little embraces to decorate my neck.

When I am outside with friends, I imagine that my in love is with us, an arm draped above my shoulder, according to the conversation and the laughter, and leaving me sip on his beer. I imagine my in love to seize my jacket of the back of the chair and to whisper in my ear, "love of I your friends, but leave suits us between in the bed."

I think of suction on his lower lip. To slightly run my fingers in bottom of its chest under its button of belly, but above its buckled hair and to intend its breath to catch. I imagine to draw his hair right, and to leave fingerprints on my in love behind.

3 comments:

Anonymous said...

O.k., so is this how RUMI composed his poetry? Because this sure as hell sounds like Rumi. You're a genius. Copyright your material before it gets stolen. You're going to be a millionairess when you publish the "Kiss and Tell the World."

Hey, when is band practice ??

Anonymous said...

So, did anything happen at the rodeo last night? Did you NOT give your phone number to any cowboys? If so, was there a herd of cowboys following you by the end of the evening, begging you to spit on their shiney boots? ;-)
-- INA

The Mouth said...

OH, I luv looking at dem cowboys. They're so cuuuuute with their nice haircuts and those shirts tucked into tight jeans, and their pointy little boots and the hats! The Hats!

I danced with Frank, who let me wear his black cowboy hat and removed his hand from the elastic of my bra 3 times. But honey, have you learned nothing from me this past month? I did NOT give my phone number out to anyone! Hard, fast rule!