m.t. whitington


A force majeure, female catalyst, futurist, polemicist, psychonaut, epistemologist. Ruminating between the lines with a clarion call and extreme unction.  A global writer with southern roots.


la mediatrice

la mediatrice

la mediatrice

 

 

evil be to him who evil thinks, adieu! adieu!

au contraire, a beautiful gesture from the ingenue.

every phrase that fell from her lips full of bon mot.

 

i never chased the dragon, so how does it feel?

the world is warm, my blood of indigo. bon voyage!

no word, no bond, row on, live as a god.

 

like a delicate paper mache, our love floated fragile.

one a force majeure, upon the surface, quite the provocateur.

the other a raconteur, always prepared with a riposte.

 

the chartreuse and the charlatan lived, so risque.

he writes his billet doux like a bon vivant.

dressed in harlequin as a mattachine.

 

the mediatrice huntress that gathers the beard, no canard.

a true coup de foudre. it was most certainly not a mariage blanc,

for it was as pure and delicious as a beurre blanc.

 

a secret world kept by the perfect eminence grise.

the pas de trois was never full of ennui,

but i brought it down like a saboteur. c'est la vie!

 

neither would miss the secret rendezvous.

i am the mediatrice in their lavender marriage.

this debacle ended like a hard rain on decoupage.

 

the peacemaker, the mediator, the warm tongued instigator,

just to read the words brings la petite mort.

the avant la lettre, managing all volte-face affairs.

 

i never chased the dragon, so how does it feel?

tonight we all dined on la mediatrice baguette a la carte.

no word, no bond, row on, live as a god.

 

the soiree

the soiree

venice

venice