100 Word Wordle Challenge: No Flight of Fancy

I will spare you the long story.

Let’s just say computer crash, travel for work, and a challenge that would terrify the walking dead. But I finally got it a few days ago, and now have computer access. Not quite in time to meet Rall’s graciously extended deadline of October 31, but it’s finished!



No Flight of Fancy (100 word wordle)

Cherry-red and gin-soaked you were, a sunset that seared a fire storm
across the downfall of the night. Warm stuff you were, with grubby tattered 
      hands
that brought me joy. No flight of fancy here, no flash of sparrow wings
or jet black diamante gloss. You promised me escape.

Urgent then, your rant. Toss the dice and made each alluring rumble
a potential kiss. Laughter all around. Your log and balls hot and still and
      moist;
we’d bake to perfect touch. We made our ardent love a plant not soaked in
     pap -
twas a pot of young jonquils colled by a silken frieze.

To watch you wilt, my glowing star, my damaged rose, sends me as a sheep
     to market:
I am polite and torn facing the drudgery of this dusty road.
No distant bells to call me back. I switch my gaze. I am your prey no longer-you clasp your own long fruit, your delicate forgotten branch, the latch that
      once unlocked my heart.

I want butterflies for lunch,
you croak, and snap your tapered fingers
as if to call the help.
I fill our glass but a trickle now, for fetid juice has drown’d its beauty:
your liquid holds no past.

This amazing ride we had, this magic primavera flight with watts too high to
      count
is a now a fleck in a cloud above the ocean. And in a flash of light, the bloom
     of buds and
blushes of desire burst and fall upon the sea into its unceasing, undulating
     waves.

I smell your nape, your fig-like breath.
I caress your chocolate, snow-topped skull.
A school of grief, this is.
A rose choir that fades to white in our secret garden.

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