The Tuesday Platform

Queen-Anne's Lace

Her body is not so white as
anemony petals nor so smooth—nor
so remote a thing. It is a field
of the wild carrot taking
the field by force; the grass
does not raise above it.
Here is no question of whiteness,
white as can be, with a purple mole
at the center of each flower.
Each flower is a hand’s span
of her whiteness. Wherever
his hand has lain there is
a tiny purple blemish. Each part
is a blossom under his touch
to which the fibres of her being
stem one by one, each to its end,
until the whole field is a
white desire, empty, a single stem,
a cluster, flower by flower,
a pious wish to whiteness gone over—
or nothing. -William Carlos Williams 

February greeted me with a wink and whispered, "It's love," excitedly into my ear. I use to pride myself and thought I knew what it was, what it felt like and boy was I wrong. Before him I must have dipped into the feeling a few times and tasted passion so much as a single bite. Believe me when I say that I have had a million crushes being the hopeless romantic that I am, but this.. this amazing feeling, this fire and burning sensation in my chest is something out of a Jane Austen novel, is all-consuming and out of this world! This is the real thing.

As for the job unfortunately I didn't get it but it's all right I will keep trying. Lets see what destiny has in store. So tell me, what's happening in your part of the world? 

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