http://slow.writerscafe.org/apoetspursuit The original writings of author The Pursuit of Venus en-us Copyright 2026 WritersCafe.org 1775986540 WritersCafe.org RSS Generator 15 I bought her strawberries one dayThe salesman told me they were ripeBut from the way she frowned when she took a bite,I knew that they were notI apologized over and over-She had waited all day for these fruitsBut she ate them anyway,Said she could get used to them for meWe parted a month afterwardsA.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/apoetspursuit/1198170/ You are my earthly angel,And your wings have been drawn with charcoalYou are my strong sunshine,But nowadays sunscreen is worn by allYou are my china doll;Dropped and repaired with cheap glueYou are my captured star,But I don't quite know what to do with youFor I fear of pulling you too closeIn an o.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/apoetspursuit/1194582/ Modern writings I have shunned;Lush language has always stunned-Me.English teachers are eager to praise;Their astonished smiles just raise-Me.I am an artist who has drawn,A writer who has written.The arrogance of claiming the artist title is strong,But the pride in my work is non-existent. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/apoetspursuit/1194515/ She has tiger eyesAnd a harmonic laugh A kind of beauty noted by everyoneBut only artist loveFor she has a body of marbleWith smooth curves,Soft bumps,And worn surfacesAnd she has a voiceThat speaks with all eagerness of a childOn Christmas EveAnd she has tiger eyes,Wild, wild eyes. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/apoetspursuit/1193969/ I saw her at an art fair,She passed me in a flash of auburn hair.I tried to see her again,But she was the subject of many other womenShe was more diverse than any paintingAnd we left the artwork and gathered around, waitingPerhaps for some sign she was realAnd not a secret the Gods concealedAnd as i.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/apoetspursuit/1193320/ The squareness of her face to me,Represents an abstract sort of femininityAnd the way her smile is not quite thereLets me know that she has stories to shareAnd all the smoke and coffee and words she smells likeIs a perfume she reapplies at nightAnd the way she hesitates before touching me;She is a m.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/apoetspursuit/1193292/