Quietly she listened,
With a subtle Mona Lisa smile;
As he ever so softly whispered,
"I finally figured out your style."
"Oh what is it?" she ventured
Her voice now growing thin...
The lacy curtains barely stirred
And the smile became a Cheshire grin
In the passive Ticonderoga wind.
Then with the lightest of eagle feathers
You could have knocked her dead.
"You use a lot of adjectives,"
He matter-of-factly said,
As he lay there, Pasha-like
Upon her pillowed bed.
Is that good or bad she wondered,
Her soul and body bared,
As she anxiously and deeply pondered
The information that he shared.
And as she leaned back to listen to the raucous blue-jays sing
She was eminently aware of one extremely important thing –
Without a myriad of adjectives and verbs
She'd never reach the required one hundred and fifty words!
Then she provocatively turned towards him with gentle nips
And licked the words right off his tender, smiling lips