Our Man in Europe/now Belize/Dave Delacroix: "Sweet Delores."

 Our Man in Europe, now Belize, Dave Delacroix: "Sweet Delores." (after Algernon Charles SWINBURNE, English Poet, poem, published-1866)

"Sweet Delores."

....O SISTA NIGHT, or Sista Ray, O Sista moon, see how we WAIL! O Sista kiss, O Sista Love, how do I find, Sista dove?... 

O Sista moment, O Sista Kate, Sweet Delores, Sista fate? O Sista heat. O Sista mood, to help this fool, Sista Cool.

O Sista Jane! O Sista Mae! Sweet Delores, Sista Fame? O Sista Night, O Sista Ray, O Sista moon, see how we WAIL! O Sista kiss, O Sista love, how do I find, Sista dove?

Sista Moment! Sista Kate, sweet Delores, Sista fate, Sista heat, O Sista mood, to help this fool, Sista Cool. O Sista Kate! O Sista Mame! Sweet Delores, Sista pain? 

O Sista night, that Sista mood, the Goddess of Blues.... See how WAIL! See how we WAIL! See how WAIL! See how we WAIL! See how we WAIL! See how we WAIL!...

c.2026. Dave Delacroix....F.Y.I folks, U can Google this/Song & Music...on Utube. (enjoy.)

Our Man in Europe/now Belize/Dave Delacroix: "Fools & Funkers!"

 Our Man in Europe, now Belize, Dave Delacroix: "Fools & Funkers!"

...FOOLS & FUNKERS, past their sale date, struttin' & frettin' upon the stage, long since an encore's echo, squeezing blood out of a rolling stone, now moss covered where-in adoration fails to penetrate.

Fools & Funkers, a clowns smeared lipstick smile betrays a gendre out of style. A Jitterbug, a Charleston, all that Jazz and a spinning world gone in a flash.

Fools & Funkers, tits & teeth, a silent movie, a fragile SCENE. Meet the New Gig. Same as the old gig. Same as it ever was. Same as it ever was. Fools & Funkers! Death loves a crowd.

c.2026. Dave Delacroix.

Our Man in Europe/now Belize/DAVE DELACROIX/David Michael Oxley on FACEBOOK/ "RAGGEDY ANNE!"

 Our Dude in Europe/now Belize, Dave Delacroix (under-cover-spy-thingy): "Raggedy Anne!

...DID U KISS & FORGET a Poets heart? Did U forget, LOVE abandoned, lost in all your confusion, that vivacity to confound a CAT? A raggedly Anne treading on water?

Did U WANDER/SWIM into troubled waters? A RIP-TIDE:  Once, swept away? Expectations. Who dances your tune that in a NANO, a nano moment turns Avante-garde Jazz into Blues?

Your HEM skirt is showing, stockings-wrinkled, a flute-solo, your Soul; as histories, ERA's peel away to the raggedy Anne, the belladonna, a great LADY, miniature portraits, exhibits, to adorn museum walls in Paris & Rome.

That Raggedy Anne, that "O-Murphy"/Casanova's protege who caught the eye of a French King.  PORN QUEEN? Pox-ridden? A great Lady? Remembered! Now remembered no more.

That raggedy Anne. Swishing & skirt. Knee stockings, flippant, no hurt. A Waltz thru a Life, a hot butter knife. That raggedy Anne I once knew.

c. 2026. Dave Delacroix.

Our Man in Europe. Dave Delacroix. "BITS & BOBS!" (And all those...)

 Our Man in Europe, Dave Delacroix: "Bits & Bobs!"

(dedicato: Gordon Westeran)

"BITS & BOBS!"

...BOX O MATCHES, SWAN VESTA, SMOKES, TEN QUID in your "TROU"?  Levis, Ben Sherman shirt, BATA on your feet. A Harrington windbreaker, Sheffield U.K, cold & rain. 1960s. Pre-internet, no Cellphone... when U could still use your brain.

 A 2-TcONE Suit with a Blue-Beat hat: A-ROCKSTEADY! That KID U went AT! (Tomorrows Rockstar?) ...A megaphone bowtie but a tapping-pointed shoe. TAMLA-MOTOWN tunes resound: "Gimmie just a little more time!?", some Chairman at the Board?

Bits & Bobs. Your first music/L.P. STEREO, Paul Simon, Jimi Hendrix replacing a rusting country BICYCLE/ U roamed afar, 50 miles in a day - locked in those RUGBY school days when U scored that victory "TRY"! (The TEAM singing, Johnny Cash's: "Cocksuckers in the sky!" tra-la-la!

... And that splendor in the grass. Girls' hearts come & go. just who "all-hallows", whittles into your soul, "Dia del la Morte" which unsounds your goal. The "Sunshine of your Love", or as for U, "Do U know the way to Santa FE?" Why would U? It's just another gig.

The ROAR of YOUTH. Innocent vivacity. A box of Matches, now a whisky flask on your hip, and all those Bits & Bobs, but no whining, we take to our grave. BEHOLD THE MIRROR! BEHOLD YOUR FACE! Shakespeare TOO had his moments.

...A box of matches. BITS & BOBS! Swan Vesta! Strike a light! I wondered lonely - tongue in cheek - as a cloud... And all those crazy things we thought were Cool. (Anybody gotta match!?) ...Don't ask. Don't tell less U ruin the spell! Those bits & bobs. We got. That BLING, our solo Song.

c.2026. davedelacroix.

 

Our Man in Europe/now Belize/Dave Delacroix: "A road map to your ZEN."

 Our Man in Europe/now Belize/Dave Delacroix: "A road map to your ZEN."

...A ROAD MAP to your ZODIAC, a road map to your COOL, a road map to your ZEN...Do U have a NANO, a minute, an hour to learn just how U began? 

Afterall, a G.P.S. to your Soul, worthy of investigation/what's not to like, but perhaps only U?

A road map to your Umbilical, a "double helix" of imagination that reaches to the sky. It doesn't matter if U have to wonder why? ZEN? A neighbor?

...ZEN, a neighbor? Buddy/BABE on Facebook? Just a concrete-Internet concept away to chisel at your mind, Spam-on-Spam in (lingua) Mandarin? Maybe she's cute?

...A road map/G.P.S., satellites in the sky like "olde Tyme" road signposts, directing: "GO WEST YOUNG MAN!". Later? Let me know the reason why.

A zillion "friends" who U have never met. A road map to your Zodiac. A road map, a ONE-WAY street to your Cool. 

c.2026. Dave Delacroix. 

Our Man in Europe, now Belize, Dave Delacroix: "A kiss after midnight Blues."

 Our Man in Europe/now Belize/Dave Delacroix: "A kiss after midnight. Blues."

...WHATEVER IT TAKES, it could be JUNK, Cocaine or just the Booze. Whatever it takes, a broken Love, a broken Home, that song U sing.

Whatever it takes, late mornings or in the dead of night. Nobody's perfect, a long journey into the light. And a kiss after midnight, whatever it TAKES it's still U.

Whatever! Whatever! -It takes hard times, rough seas, outrageous fortune, and a ring upon a finger? Like two names carved upon a tree, and that kiss after midnight where we're supposed to be.

Whatever it takes, whatever we KNEW, that Man for U, that Gal for Me. Whatever it takes, that kiss after midnight... ain't never gonna set me free.

c.2026. dave delacroix.

Our Man in Europe/now BELIZE/Dave Delacroix: "ROLLO TOMASSI!" (After Movie, L.A. Confidential.)

 Our Man in Europe, now BELIZE, Dave Delacroix: "ROLLO TOMASSI!" (After Movie, L.A. Confidential.)

...ROLLO TOMASSI, THE KILLER in your heart, maybe your CONSCIENCE who gets away with murder? ...Somehow, however "LAURA", your EX, outta town, but U R in the frame; a Hearts grave is STILL dead to rights? One Heart? Two hearts? Did U have 2 keys?

Rollo Tomassi, that ghost-like, illusive black bag man U carry thru your life, yet who sometimes escapes giving the Cops "a shadow of a doubt" & on a wasted Saturday night WOTCHAGONNADO? -No Barkeep/tab-owing & dementia fellow barfly, "How's a Boy?" 

And no use in blaming it on a lost weekend/a drunkards Brigadoon: "I was at the 'Green Cockatoo" playing Poker with 5 guys named "Moe". It's a withered alibi when U look a SHAMUS in the eye before the L.A.P.D. slip on the bracelets?

There's VELMA of course who will (just for U) swear on a STACK (Bibles); WANDA will say the same, plead "double insemination", same time, different Malibu beach house: The tide, I guess was in that night.

Rollo Tomassi. Out on a spree? Heart palpitations, 2 "Frail" alibis. Boulevard neon's starting to bleed? Only ROLLO can save U. U need him like that trusted friend, like the umbrella from your bank manager, no worries...unless it's raining.

Rollo Tomassi. The Man in U. The one U wish U never knew? A Jack-be-nimble/Jack be quick! HISTORY! Biography? Bell, Book & Candlestick. Clues U left behind. Where does the Time all go? And your Rollo Tomassi...still on the loose!

c.2026. Dave Delacroix.

Our Man in Europe, now Belize, Dave Delacroix: "The Mariachi in the Afternoon."

 Our Man in Europe, now BELIZE, Dave Delacroix: "The Mariachi in the Afternoon."

...THE MARIACHI (singing/guitar/travelling Minstrel) in the afternoon; 'hungover!", choice - drinks - a RIOJA or a glass of MILK, ashtrays full, mind numb from the concertina night before when his magic ruled the bistro floor.

The Mariachi in the afternoon, faded tuxedo, blurred mascara, dainty lipstick on his collar, bowtie askew, no Roadies, no Groupies - all gone home -to encore. A thunder within their own experience. A memory. Soon forgotten.

The Mariachi in the afternoon, a MATADOR in aspic, now over dressed, comic, a psyche-marooned with a past night HUZZAH! An echo of a maverick a-song. Just a Mariachi in the afternoon. Truely solo. A guitar by his side with 3 broken strings.

c.2026. Dave Delacroix.

Our Man in Europe, now Belize, Dave Delacroix: "BLU MOON."

 Our Man in Europe, now Belize, Dave Delacroix: "BLU MOON."

...BLU MOON OVER London, Paris or Rome when U R alone but as long as U R, ALONE, to kiss the splendor of the Night.

BLU MOON, a heart in exile, that suture for your wound, an exhumation, yet a mirror-cracked; was it laughter or a SCREAM, a tender heart in a Blu moon night?

BLU MOON. A Great Gatsby, a Night Swimmer, swimming pool, cut down like a Baron, a King, an unrequited destiny, an AL BOWLLY background song?

BLU MOON, standing alone. Without a dream in your heart. Without a love of your own.

c.2026. Dave Delacroix.

Our Man in Europe, now Belize, Dave Delacroix: "Angel of the Morning."

 Our Man in Europe, now living in Belize: "Angel in the morning."

...ANGEL IN THE MORNING. Angel hanging out. In plain sight. The Angel of the Morning, bloody Mary-cocktail, awakening. That drunken Man, ears filled with Tavern song & midnight stories, myriad visions in Pine forests...

... a wisp in the wind, a dance in your gaze or to clutch at your crotch like a Goethe "Schwartz-Nacht Engel"...Saint Walpurgis night!...

...Wizards, devils dance in the air, a satanic ANGEL un-afraid, that screams that hollow scream enabling your song for a night into a dreary day which lights a lantern to stumble on your way.

DOGS ARE BARKING! But Cats MEOWW...like angels in the morning, "a-la" a daughter (Sisters?) a love for her pet Lamb? A courage un-foreseen. A William Tells bow ARROW, a spleen. Did U ever SCRATCH THAT? TELESCOPE? Did he who made the Lamb make thee? And just who or what R. U. supposed to be?

The Angel in the Moonlight, an intrinsic forgotten valve, a lost kernel, a bud, a shoot from another's tree. Or a promise, a SYMPHONY, yet like an angel in the morning ...flew with gossamer wings.

c.2026. Dave Delacroix

Our Man in Europe/now Belize/Dave Delacroix: "Sweet Bird of Youth." (A'pres Tennessee Williams.)

 Our Man in Europe, now Belize, DAVE DELACROIX: "Sweet Bird of Youth." (A'pres Tennessee Williams.)

"Sweet Bird of youth."

...Sweet bird of youth, soft, tanned, tonal flair & all the diamonds in your golden hair. A midnight kiss, a Moon alight, a gleaming, a glint in an eye, a Tyger-Tyger in a jungle night?

Sweet bird of youth, an Act within a Play to prick the conscience of an aging world; a tribute, a trouble, a cloud, a sleek horizon, a loves re-doubt!? A timetable un-registered! A CHASM"s fading shouts, triple ECHO smolders... like kisses of clay. Lack-a-day & all our yesterdays.

Sweet bird of youth lost too soon. A legend-illusion like the Man on the Moon. Lost like ATLANTIS & all of its joys, enjoyed now by proxy; GONE! And SWEPT, now astray. No Prince nor Pauper. Away-away! Sweet bird of youth -marooned on the moon.

Sweet bird of youth, an ICARUS flight. A place in the Sun, loves waxwings un-wind. A Song of Songs. A SAGA chant! A silent chorale un-sounds. As birds' wings, noiselessly shadow that sweet bird of youth to no longer mirror your marrow.

Sweet bird of youth, a dance, a song, light on your feet, flirtations belong. A "Festa di Complianni" (Happy Birthday in Italian), a Carnival: "Plasair d'amour!" (French lingua: It means U STILL owe me $20!)  as that Tyger-Tyger prowls thru your night.  That Sweet bird of Youth. Your ghost, your future night.

c.2026. Dave Delacroix/aged 70.

Our Man in Europe/now Belize: Dave Delacroix: "Sweet Raglan."

 

Our Man in Europe, now in Belize, Dave Delacroix: "Sweet Raglan."

...I know where I'm going and I know my own Tomorrow. I know where I'm going & no one's gonna stop me.... Keep your HEAD a-low, U foolish British Gentry, schoolboys are taught, a reptile-rigamortiz, an Arithmetic-propriety. The old school tie. But God forbid not ME or YOU:

...I know where I'm going. And I know just who loves me! I know where I'm going. No one can ever stop me. His she blonde or his she black, a Tartan of the Campbell? Does she blow the pipes, or strike the drum, my heart, my drear, my sweet, my Raglan. (Gal who kicks Ass!)

I know where I'm going. And I know just whom to go to. I know where I'm going, my sorrow & my lonely destiny. My maiden in the Scottish heather. An arrow struck her on the parapets, defending my castle as I, away at the Crusades. A-lack-a-day a Scottish Play!!! And now I sit in sorrow.

ALAS, God damned BLUES!!! But I know where I'm going. And I know my own Tomorrow. I know where I'm going. I know just where I'm going. Do YOU know where you are going, perhaps to meet sweet Raglan. I string my Bow, my arrow true: As for ME, my armor-ruptured, no-ne can stop me! I THINK I still know where I'm going!

Sweet Raglan. Where are you now?

(Dementia entrails & words tend to fail, a mind un-wind chisels at this grind.)

I know where I'm going.

c.2026. dave delacroix.

Our Man in Europe/now Belize/Dave Delacroix: "BRIGADOON!"

Our Man in Europe/now Belize/Dave Delacroix: "Brigadoon."

(dedicato:  Craig Jobe. R.I.P. Soldier-HERO in Vietnam, Inventor-Unique & Carol Aniello's/Dave Delacroix's best friend.)

(Brigadoon!" Once every year, the SCOTTISH LEGAND has it's been told, the FOG lies over the LOCH & all your Ghosts/Legends/Heroes descend from Valhalla to sing, dance in a festival of yesteryear & make "WHOOPIE!!!"

"Brigadoon!"...

 In remembrance, in Emporium: THE GHOSTS of our lives... ever be kind? Laments, regrets? Will they never CEASE that persecution in our SLEEP or let us recline? Alas. "Le plate de Jour"! We REAP what we SOW not caring the Morrows, debut an Oboe, a solo, a meteor in the night, 

...that singular WULPH!... an aghast "Honey," A nature's flatulence-UN-bodily. UN-controlled, a cerebral SMEAR, the artwork on your wall? "Honey, did U get that painting at the Flea Market? Did U paint it?" Some mirror. Some soul? "I could-a POSED!?" Leastways: "A.I." (Craig Jobe, laughing upstairs!) ...as we imagine all our DEPARTED, keeping the upstairs the beer on ice, smiling?

Who WAILS, the UN-foreseen, the ghosts, the HAUNTING, some ZIG-ZAG, a T.V. remote; just WHO - in the nights sky - moved OUR Elon Musk Satellite Moon? -David Bowie's movie: "The Man who fell to Earth?" -whose kiss did U last tasted? Did U write a Poem. Did U give a darned, Like a Man! Like a Girl? Legs a-akimbo: Come and get me-World? SURELY I WILL Frick U!

The Man U first loved in the lowlands, in the highlands, Loch Lomond. It was "a bonnie Wee Lass", a HIGHLAND- Scottish -regalia, fife & drum to herald a Maid, married at a Celliedh/Scottish Rave to sing of her virginity's loss, pipes & drums. Haggis munches & the Pipes!

 A fool in a Zoom. A fool in a Zoom, Lanvin No 6 lipstick at your last encounter? (Don't feel guilty/face-cosmetics, Monte Carlo, Cannes, boulevard des Anglais) ...when LOVE takes its token? Girl or Boy> U lie on the beach. What is your Want? What is your need? Spandex? A skeletal clothed in muscle, nerves & vivacity.

"OUT DAMNED SPOT!" (Scottish Play/Lady Macbeth) Ghosties in the night, that inner resurrection, what TITS or DICKS that writhe like serpents, let our secret nightmares dance, let those damned ghosts in our mind, twisting & turning, an inner burning, rogue, ever thriving, yet do leave us behind: 

AS ALWAYS, Hollywood SUITS, poking in their Gucci clothes noses. (Hanging on by their fingernail/expenses-jobs) ...

For WE!!! A "BRIGADOON" A mystery. A thought in the fog. Our love, regrets, the horrors we take to our grave. A Scottish Highland song, pipes & all to Brigadoon! The BAGPIPES RAVE! As we lament what pieces of our heart we can STILL SAVE! "OCH AYE!!!" To that fog of Brigadoon.

c.dave delacroix.2026

Our Man in Europe, Dave Delacroix: "Bloodshot MOON!"

TERED Our Man in Europe, Dave Delacroix/LORD BORGO: Bloodshot Moon!"

MY Moon, YOUR Moon, OUR Moon, that bloodshot sucker in the nights sky, circling our insanity, probably gonna need a millennium of psychotherapy?... That night lantern shadowing our diversity. A symbol of WHA!? Some night, our Moon may not shine.

 Some ROCK in outta Space. INSENSITIVE/couldn't care less, but maybe UNIVERSALITY pleads or SUGGESTS an innocence-indifference, but not a be-wigged Court to deport U to Australia or send U to the Gallows? Some night, our Moon may not shine.

SLAVE SHIPS to the Colonies for over a hundred years! Slaves in ancient times "de regeure"...!!! Who sings of Galley-slaves or Christian martyrs thrown to the lions? (Good eating?) Or battles! Sword on sword. Murder on murder to save the Purse of a King? Some night, our Moon may not shine.

Caesar, Timberlane, Genghis Khan, all Pharaohs have eyed, eye witnessed, been witness to our bloodshot Moon. Its visible craters, perhaps its CRATERS, the wounds we have sown? Tyranny. Injustice. We spew like a phlegm of lice as latter day, NOW in a city of dreams, HOLLYWOOD we ferment our device/VICE portraying all our yesterdays & future divined? Some night, our Moon may not shine.

 A Hi-tech Drone overhead, injections in mice, COVID in a test tube, as madness prevails, who wants to be BOSS, like a ravaged Protest Song of all that we've lost. And as for the Moon? Who DEVIL'S the morrow that cannot find the light? Some night, our Moon may not shine.

And as for the Moon. MY Moon. YOUR Moon. OUR Moon. That Bloodshot Moon. A witness!  Which out there in Space, CRATERED, lonely, orbiting the sky. Some night, lack-a-day, your faithful Moon may not shine.

c.2026, Dave Delacroix.

Our Man in Europe/Dave Delacroix; "MAIGRET!" (Famous literary French Police Detective.)

 Our Man in Europe/Dave Delacroix: "Maigret!" (...a'pres George Simenon)

"MAIGRET!"

.... ON A PARIS "Maigret" wet night, MURDER in the air, no suspects, no alibies, an abundance of lies, little truth & all disguised? Eyewitnesses' Zodiac. Seen too many "Film Noir" Movies? " The killer looked like Bob Mitchum from "Out of the Past", Could-a been Humprey Bogart, the "Maltese Falcon": DEAD RINGER (in French)!

Maigret tells his boys, go to nearest Cafe. One Franc for the eyewitnesses in case they think of something new... Give Em a Gitaine, a Gauloise. (Cigarettes & a Cognac). Make Em feel blue?

On a Paris-"Maigret" wet night, smoke from Maigret's pipe scents the boulevard, a combat with escargot/snails against severe garlic from the Cafe de la Paix. The murder scene, a swarm of Gendarmes promenading/investigating, poking around with their batons less they soil their pristine uniforms.

Still. The Rue Madelaine never looked so innocent. The ghosts of Balzac, Zola, Apollinaire, Rimbaud, Baudelaire do indeed haunt these quarters. World War 2 gave Paris an Allied/Nazis "Blitz" bombing break. The French Resistance? Some serious HEROES. But the murder of a Girl in peace time? French blood boils!

On a Paris "Maigret" rainy-wet Parisian night, getting murdered, a "Lanny" in a red dress, a transgender, a "Grisson" or a maid just on her way home? "Croissants et Cafe au lait Monsieur?" Cafe des Amis Rendezvous. Her Cafe clientele knew this girl so well. 

Her NAME- "Michele", dress ripped & torn. The last lonely BELLS she would ever hear, St. Eustace church, that eternal DING-DONG! DING-DONG!  From the "BnB/long term albergo" of France's dead Kings; a Francois Villion sonnet for Michele, too late. As for whom the bells tolls: DING-DONG! DING-DONG! "Ou sans les Neige d'antan?"...

On a Maigret wet Parisian night evil sometimes pervades, no suspects, no alibies, little truth, a glass of Pastiche, a glass of beer at the Cafe Dolphin yet Maigret alert, puffing on his pipe...the Concierge, where she lived, did she turn on the light? And Louis, the bartender, jilted lover, at the Cafe des Amis Rendezvous; was he waiting with a jealous stiletto that night?

LUKA, Maigret's right hand man awaits his orders!

c.2026, Dave Delacroix.

Our Man in Europe/nowBelize, Dave Delacroix: "PALOOKAVILLE!"

 Our Man in Europe, now BELIZE, Dave Delacroix: "PALOOKAVILLE!"(after Raymond Chandler)

"Palookaville!"

...I was working, office sink mirror, on my Mullet (haircut), my neglected foot-dangling a tad askew. I needed to exercise. Hit the office bottle. I hadn't seen VELMA in a while. NOBODY-lately, no high-end corpse having got murdered for a discreet "P.I." (A Shamus). This is bad for business: 

A lady suspected with a diamond necklace/absent dude in a Tuxedo, the chauffer A.W.O.L. with the big shots Rolls-Royce? And lipstick on your collar? (Thank U VELMA!) Even unemployed I felt like I needed a Chinatown laundry; a Palookaville-one way ticket stub before I hit downtown?

Some say that a STIFF (Dead frick U murdered) his heavier than a broken heart. Throw him in a Packards trunk, off the pier, South L.A. Bay: Malibu canyons, Las Vegas surrounds make Arlington Cemetery small, sadly less renown.

The TORCHER (Razzy-Night Club singer with the everlasting nylons), another VELMA, ZELDA (whatever) sitting now in my humble outta office, sniffling, handing me an envelope stuffed with dead Presidents, should I take the Case?

'Did U kill him? Did U drive him off the cliff, Pacific Palisades? It's IN the NEWS, that Packard, driven off the pier, that lipstick smear upon his dead lips? Did U KILL HIM!?"

...THIS GIG (a SHAMUS)  ain't for just anyone, the crunch Fedora, Gabardine-belted, a resident leer, wise cracks on hand, a loser, a fool ...in someone else's "Film Noir"?...

"Did U kill him?"

"NO! My lover, the chauffer!"

"Is he dead too?"

"I can explain that!"

At which point, Sergeant Nalty/Uniforms (L.A.P.D.) burst through my office door!

c.2026. dave delacroix.

Our Man in Europe, now Belize, Dave Delacroix -a.k.a. David Michael Oxley on Facebook - "FAT MARGO."

 Our Man in Europe, now Belize, Dave Delacroix: "Fat Margo."

HER LAST GREAT AFFAIR, she could do no wrong, that menopause, that urgence, that throng. That LAMIA coil, one last time, writhing she had to BE strong. That Girl now a great Lady, a need to sing her song.

That Period Pimple once upon her face now vanquished as times, now erased. No Ovulating, no bleeding, no trace of who she was. Her last great affair...a lonely maiden's song; she sings of tomorrow but mostly of yesterday... whence minstrels would court her & gather round and life seemed so gay.

Come-come U Dances! Come play!

Her last great affair, a dagger to her heart!  AGE! An inner elopement confounded, a tribal/Clan surrounded, yet then, when the bounder-suitor's absconded, last heard: No fixed address, killed, cutlass/pistole with Kit Marlowe (playwright) in a London South River bar?

Close friends whisper: "I told u so?"

Her last great affair, a Nunnery bound. And ALL this took place before, a posey Romeo & Juliet, Paris & Helene, Abelard & Whoopsies, serious stuff/history, her last great affair REVERBS and leaves tears on the ground. Message in a bottle? Maybe a ghost-Email, Time-Travel; Loves wormhole?

"TO THE NUNNERY-WENCH!", Mediaeval songs sing. Fat Margo. Brothel Ma'am. Whose last great affair do U sing of now?  Leaving the rest of us - a kind of Loving - in this WORLD BORDELLO ...where we ply our trade.

c.2026. Jan. Dave Delacroix.