Mackinac Island Getaway
phishgod
Posts: 133
Mackinac Island Getaway
Or I
could take
your to
Mackinac, a
wild weekend
get away,
and I
meet you
at the
airport, we
fall joyous
into each
other’s arm’s
embrace a
passion which
embarrasses the
other fellow
travelers around
us, unnoticed
in our
desires, and
spirit you
laughing, beaming
the little
car all
packed light
and ready
my hand
on your
waist, guiding
you as
if my
velveteen dream
and we
embrace again
the elevator
in the
parking garage,
our forms
mingling magnetic
against each
other, as
doors open
the second
story of
our lives,
and we
just smile
and smile,
so happy
lovers, at
the elderly
couple waiting
to board
as we
get off,
and once
inside our
ride, and
on our
way out
of town,
my hand
gently grasps
your thigh,
my passenger
seat grateful
to be
occupied, as
the Cranberries
play “Linger”
so appropriately,
and we,
on cruise,
our little
coos and
stories and
laughter at
how the
sunsparkles
reflect rainbows
in our
eyes, drive
hard and
swift on
96 to
G. R., and
recall old
familial fortunes
of the
Penney’s and
my own,
as signs
point us
north up
131 towards
Ludington, and
beyond, but
we lost
our own
new lives,
and must
hurry to
catch last
ferry, so
I drive
one-eyed for
radar cops,
one-handed
for silk
stockinged leg,
but hearts
a-fire and
we soon
hit 31
as time
and all
Michigan scenery
fly by
us like
our lives
before, and
soon the
forests green
begin to
emerge with
little birch
bark white
sparkles on
the right,
and you
remark the
significance of
this factoid
to us
as I
a wry
smile think
back upon
my own
past Berkeley
visions, and
now merged,
as 75
comes in,
we motor
hard our
joyous road
(now together)
and come
up over
ridge and
the whole
Indian River
valley all
color strewn
before us
and we
make quick
pit stop
at large
rock shop
where I
giggle with
you over
first Pet-ow-sky
stone and
several special
agates, a
geode with
plush passion
purple crystals
polished and
sliced as
this time
slice we
now share,
and re-car
for last
quick ride
just past
old Fort
“Michimilimac”,
the Bridge
before us
all lit
and glowing,
and slide
into Arnold’s
ferry boat
lot with
all of
20 minutes
to spare
before last
boat departs
the Island
at 4:12 O!
Ferry ride
across the
Strait, we
snuggle on
the bow,
our eyes
locked, sparkling
dazzling diamonds
of sunset
dragon’s fire
upon the
waters ahead,
my hand
sliding effortless
around you,
resting on
your hip,
a gentle
love’s caress,
the windy
chill falling
away as
we fall
even deeper
in love,
and our
cares and
worries disappear
in anticipation
little butterflies
of the
soon to
become one
which we
are about
to be.
As the
ferry docks
and the
speaker blares
last departure
and first
boat times
for tomorrow,
we allow
all ahead
to disembark
and absorb
each other’s
joy and
blessed bliss
to be
together now,
and we
slow disembark,
moving now
on our
own time
and hand-
a-hand,
happy we
packed light,
happy in
the simplicity
of this
carless place
with 300
years of
weathered history
to explore,
just us.
You marvel
at the
horses, the
gas lit
cobbled street,
the luxurious
carriage for
the Grand
Hotel, while
I explain
our own
short walk
by noting
(even in
our luxuriant
joy) that,
at $1500
a night
per couple,
is too
rich for
even my
tastes, even
if it
is a
discounted rate
and does
include our
meals, so
we walk
on our
own path
to the
plushness of
our bed
and breakfast
past the
bikes and
drays and
those horses—
speckled grays,
and browns
clop-clop
clop-clopping
on the
cobblestones
before us.
And as
we check
in a
few blocks
later, you
wince visibly
at $275
a night,
but the
magic in
your eyes
tells me
all is
good when
compared to
the Grand
mansion up
the Hill,
and you
remark our
hosts how
beautiful all
the little
touches they
have made
to the
lobby sitting
room and
breakfast area,
and I
see the
pride and
joy that
you sparked
in them
by noticing
the little
fine details
they have
taken to
warm this
place which
most guests
never see,
but see
you do,
and share
with all,
and it
is obvious
from the
proprietress’s
eyes that
you have
just made
her night
by noticing
the exquisite
detail she
added to
the visual
feast by
her hand
painted little
gold “Welcome
to Our
House” sign
hanging behind
the desk.
Rewarded by
our room
key, we
go outside
and up
the back
stairs to
the wide
upper porch,
a veranda
covered with
an old
seasoned wood
roof repainted
with rich
sofas and
chairs and
lawn furniture
perfect for
snuggling, and
gazing out
on the
harbor at
midnight, and
then, into
our little
room, its
ornate brass
bed covered
with a
plush goose-down
quilt, featherbed
mattress, the
pinkened canopy
and soft
rose walls,
the mahogany
trim, the
huge Bay
window with
little sitting
perch beneath,
the rose
towels on
the little
bath stand,
plush and
warm, and
marvel, delighted
at the
bright cheery
cherry wallpaper
trim around
the ceiling
over our
bed, the
little sampler
basket of
fruits and
sweets thoughtfully
provided on
the nightstand,
and Way!,
the packages
of dried
Traverse City
blueberries, and
cherries, within!
Delighted embraces,
we kiss
with the
passion of
lovers, tender,
dizzy, tastefully,
and O!
Yes!, how
we enjoyed
trembling together
buried in
soft feather
mattress, the
down quilt
and pillows,
cupping us
gently as
we loved.
And later,
after hot
showers and
warm plush
towels shared,
we dressed,
sweatered, casual
but soft
and elegant,
promenade four
blocks to
old hotel
dining room
in town,
our suppah,
rich half
ducks, a
cherry glaze,
wild Indian
River rice,
still alive
vegetable medley,
a tasty
morel stuffing,
a delicate
Michigan Pinot
Grigio 1998,
rich fresh
brewed coffee,
Traverse City
dessert cherry
wine, and
Yes!, Of
course!, shared
cherry cheesecake.
Deliriously damaged,
our sumptuous
repast, we
take long
moonlight walk
through town,
the tourist
shops and
fudge arcades
mercifully closed
the night,
we walk
out on
the Point,
sit upon
the rocky
rip rap,
silently loving
to the
gentle slap-
slap-slap
of waves
beneath our
dangling feet,
as night
absorbs us
in its
arms, as
you, mine.
Starry eyed,
beneath the
whole Milky
Way under
a clear
Huron sky,
the moon
beckoning us
overhead, we
return, arm-
in-arm,
to our
room our
muffled passion
peaking perfectly,
pillowed in
each other
until dawn.
Rising late,
showering long,
we are
nearly last
down at
breakfast below
(rich pancakes,
sweet melons,
thick dark
coffees, a
quiche, dollops
of cherry
and blueberry
compote, a
decadent Danish),
we slip
extra apples,
oranges, plums,
bananas, peaches
in our
bookbags, dash
away outside
full and
happy, rent
bikes for
the day,
head out
to savor
our most
Beautiful dreams.
Bike dancing
through town,
tourist dodging,
pausing to
enjoy little
architectural miracles
in the
old city,
the simple
beauty of
blossoming lilacs
in 1000
shades of
whites, pinks,
lavender, the
sickeningly sweet
smell of
fudge and
flowers, mingled
with waterwind
and horse,
I optimistically
challenge a
bike race
past fudge
strip of
temptations, but
you rise
to the
competitive challenge,
all athletically
aroused, leave
me gasping
and wheezing
in your
scent, soft,
slick, smooth,
and when
I beg
mercy, you
relax and
slow, await
my arrival
with that
smile, and
we ride
on, ride
on, side
by side,
holding hands,
laughing, loving,
and appreciating
all the
nuances of
the thick
wooded flora,
the craggy
bluff with
bonsai pines,
driftwood on
the beach,
the birds
twittering over
our heads,
sun streaming
golden through
the forest
boughs, your
golden hair
floating free,
like sheer
silk kimono
soft-streaming
in breeze
behind us.
We stop
on the
far side,
and explore
the grotto,
eat fruit,
drink bottled
water in
green glen,
caress with
eyes, kiss
with smiles,
coo love
mantras at
our fortune,
finding each
other, golden
needles under
Life’s haystacks,
our stones
now to
moss, as
we nestle
unrolling, secure
in the
floating world.
Returning now,
the high
back road,
after we
circumnavigate
the little
island, we
peddle pleasantly
the little
streets, climb
the Fort,
watch guards
change, fire
cannons, tour
history, little
shops, buy
watercolors of
lilacs, penny
candy sticks,
a lucky
horse shoe
at the
blacksmiths,
“wedding bands”—
bent old
nails—cherry
fudge samples,
tee shirts,
and taffy,
return our
room rich
with memories,
unveil our
skin with
tender hands,
tongues, our
electric eyes.
Bathing together,
warm bubbles,
breasts, buttocks,
bellies, the
Beauty of
lilac soaping
each other’s
backs, the
warm towels
of each
other’s flesh,
dry blankets
of our
hands, hearts,
of our
shared dreams.
We make
long slow
gentle love,
deliriously dizzy,
souls merged
into one
voice, the
same duet,
morphed and
blended together
as if
one song.
Dinner, the
Point, we
ride our
bikes, pain
of taut
muscles soothed
by stretching
further, a
dried cherry
topped chicken
salad plate,
warm croissants,
melon bowl,
tender lamb
medallions, a
fresh minted
apple jelly,
new baby
peas, pearled
onions, a
dry Chardonnay,
candles and
mango mousse,
the sparkle
in your
eyes, the
glint of
fire, burning,
our desires.
After supper,
sashay by
bike back
to town,
short stops,
the old
church, the
tavern, a
little market,
and back
to our
nest, number
12, our
home wherever
we rest,
wherever we
love, as
we do.
Up, at
dawn’s delight,
your smile
greets me
like a
poem, down
to breakfast,
eggs, ham,
fruit, granola,
fresh squeezed
juices, we
return to
pack, linger
longer love,
and wash,
ride return
bikes, stroll
and shop
(window mostly)
hand-in-
hand, our
yearning to
never be
“un-touched”, our
longing always
on, we
kiss lightly,
deeply, tenderly
in almost
every spot
we stop,
as memory
of shared
romance marks
all our
time, for
all time,
and catching
the 1P.M.
ferry, heading
back across
the Straits,
Big Mac
on our
right, the
Island to
our backs,
the peninsula
ahead, the
rest of
our lives
before us,
the song
of forever
on our
minds, my
hand lingers
on you
thigh, I
hate it
when you
must fly
home, but
know, but
know, I’ve
shown you
Mackinac, as
we begin
our new
journey, together,
now, on
our own.
Yeah! Maybe
I could
take you
to Mackinac,
a wild
weekend
getaway, our
Island, our
new beginning,
for voyage
not yet
charted, for
roads not
traveled, for
our lives,
yet to
come. Yeah!
Maybe I’d
take you
to Mackinac
Island, as
we begin
our new
journey, on
our own!
Can you
see it?
I want
to take
you there.
--March 31, 2002
@pth
Or I
could take
your to
Mackinac, a
wild weekend
get away,
and I
meet you
at the
airport, we
fall joyous
into each
other’s arm’s
embrace a
passion which
embarrasses the
other fellow
travelers around
us, unnoticed
in our
desires, and
spirit you
laughing, beaming
the little
car all
packed light
and ready
my hand
on your
waist, guiding
you as
if my
velveteen dream
and we
embrace again
the elevator
in the
parking garage,
our forms
mingling magnetic
against each
other, as
doors open
the second
story of
our lives,
and we
just smile
and smile,
so happy
lovers, at
the elderly
couple waiting
to board
as we
get off,
and once
inside our
ride, and
on our
way out
of town,
my hand
gently grasps
your thigh,
my passenger
seat grateful
to be
occupied, as
the Cranberries
play “Linger”
so appropriately,
and we,
on cruise,
our little
coos and
stories and
laughter at
how the
sunsparkles
reflect rainbows
in our
eyes, drive
hard and
swift on
96 to
G. R., and
recall old
familial fortunes
of the
Penney’s and
my own,
as signs
point us
north up
131 towards
Ludington, and
beyond, but
we lost
our own
new lives,
and must
hurry to
catch last
ferry, so
I drive
one-eyed for
radar cops,
one-handed
for silk
stockinged leg,
but hearts
a-fire and
we soon
hit 31
as time
and all
Michigan scenery
fly by
us like
our lives
before, and
soon the
forests green
begin to
emerge with
little birch
bark white
sparkles on
the right,
and you
remark the
significance of
this factoid
to us
as I
a wry
smile think
back upon
my own
past Berkeley
visions, and
now merged,
as 75
comes in,
we motor
hard our
joyous road
(now together)
and come
up over
ridge and
the whole
Indian River
valley all
color strewn
before us
and we
make quick
pit stop
at large
rock shop
where I
giggle with
you over
first Pet-ow-sky
stone and
several special
agates, a
geode with
plush passion
purple crystals
polished and
sliced as
this time
slice we
now share,
and re-car
for last
quick ride
just past
old Fort
“Michimilimac”,
the Bridge
before us
all lit
and glowing,
and slide
into Arnold’s
ferry boat
lot with
all of
20 minutes
to spare
before last
boat departs
the Island
at 4:12 O!
Ferry ride
across the
Strait, we
snuggle on
the bow,
our eyes
locked, sparkling
dazzling diamonds
of sunset
dragon’s fire
upon the
waters ahead,
my hand
sliding effortless
around you,
resting on
your hip,
a gentle
love’s caress,
the windy
chill falling
away as
we fall
even deeper
in love,
and our
cares and
worries disappear
in anticipation
little butterflies
of the
soon to
become one
which we
are about
to be.
As the
ferry docks
and the
speaker blares
last departure
and first
boat times
for tomorrow,
we allow
all ahead
to disembark
and absorb
each other’s
joy and
blessed bliss
to be
together now,
and we
slow disembark,
moving now
on our
own time
and hand-
a-hand,
happy we
packed light,
happy in
the simplicity
of this
carless place
with 300
years of
weathered history
to explore,
just us.
You marvel
at the
horses, the
gas lit
cobbled street,
the luxurious
carriage for
the Grand
Hotel, while
I explain
our own
short walk
by noting
(even in
our luxuriant
joy) that,
at $1500
a night
per couple,
is too
rich for
even my
tastes, even
if it
is a
discounted rate
and does
include our
meals, so
we walk
on our
own path
to the
plushness of
our bed
and breakfast
past the
bikes and
drays and
those horses—
speckled grays,
and browns
clop-clop
clop-clopping
on the
cobblestones
before us.
And as
we check
in a
few blocks
later, you
wince visibly
at $275
a night,
but the
magic in
your eyes
tells me
all is
good when
compared to
the Grand
mansion up
the Hill,
and you
remark our
hosts how
beautiful all
the little
touches they
have made
to the
lobby sitting
room and
breakfast area,
and I
see the
pride and
joy that
you sparked
in them
by noticing
the little
fine details
they have
taken to
warm this
place which
most guests
never see,
but see
you do,
and share
with all,
and it
is obvious
from the
proprietress’s
eyes that
you have
just made
her night
by noticing
the exquisite
detail she
added to
the visual
feast by
her hand
painted little
gold “Welcome
to Our
House” sign
hanging behind
the desk.
Rewarded by
our room
key, we
go outside
and up
the back
stairs to
the wide
upper porch,
a veranda
covered with
an old
seasoned wood
roof repainted
with rich
sofas and
chairs and
lawn furniture
perfect for
snuggling, and
gazing out
on the
harbor at
midnight, and
then, into
our little
room, its
ornate brass
bed covered
with a
plush goose-down
quilt, featherbed
mattress, the
pinkened canopy
and soft
rose walls,
the mahogany
trim, the
huge Bay
window with
little sitting
perch beneath,
the rose
towels on
the little
bath stand,
plush and
warm, and
marvel, delighted
at the
bright cheery
cherry wallpaper
trim around
the ceiling
over our
bed, the
little sampler
basket of
fruits and
sweets thoughtfully
provided on
the nightstand,
and Way!,
the packages
of dried
Traverse City
blueberries, and
cherries, within!
Delighted embraces,
we kiss
with the
passion of
lovers, tender,
dizzy, tastefully,
and O!
Yes!, how
we enjoyed
trembling together
buried in
soft feather
mattress, the
down quilt
and pillows,
cupping us
gently as
we loved.
And later,
after hot
showers and
warm plush
towels shared,
we dressed,
sweatered, casual
but soft
and elegant,
promenade four
blocks to
old hotel
dining room
in town,
our suppah,
rich half
ducks, a
cherry glaze,
wild Indian
River rice,
still alive
vegetable medley,
a tasty
morel stuffing,
a delicate
Michigan Pinot
Grigio 1998,
rich fresh
brewed coffee,
Traverse City
dessert cherry
wine, and
Yes!, Of
course!, shared
cherry cheesecake.
Deliriously damaged,
our sumptuous
repast, we
take long
moonlight walk
through town,
the tourist
shops and
fudge arcades
mercifully closed
the night,
we walk
out on
the Point,
sit upon
the rocky
rip rap,
silently loving
to the
gentle slap-
slap-slap
of waves
beneath our
dangling feet,
as night
absorbs us
in its
arms, as
you, mine.
Starry eyed,
beneath the
whole Milky
Way under
a clear
Huron sky,
the moon
beckoning us
overhead, we
return, arm-
in-arm,
to our
room our
muffled passion
peaking perfectly,
pillowed in
each other
until dawn.
Rising late,
showering long,
we are
nearly last
down at
breakfast below
(rich pancakes,
sweet melons,
thick dark
coffees, a
quiche, dollops
of cherry
and blueberry
compote, a
decadent Danish),
we slip
extra apples,
oranges, plums,
bananas, peaches
in our
bookbags, dash
away outside
full and
happy, rent
bikes for
the day,
head out
to savor
our most
Beautiful dreams.
Bike dancing
through town,
tourist dodging,
pausing to
enjoy little
architectural miracles
in the
old city,
the simple
beauty of
blossoming lilacs
in 1000
shades of
whites, pinks,
lavender, the
sickeningly sweet
smell of
fudge and
flowers, mingled
with waterwind
and horse,
I optimistically
challenge a
bike race
past fudge
strip of
temptations, but
you rise
to the
competitive challenge,
all athletically
aroused, leave
me gasping
and wheezing
in your
scent, soft,
slick, smooth,
and when
I beg
mercy, you
relax and
slow, await
my arrival
with that
smile, and
we ride
on, ride
on, side
by side,
holding hands,
laughing, loving,
and appreciating
all the
nuances of
the thick
wooded flora,
the craggy
bluff with
bonsai pines,
driftwood on
the beach,
the birds
twittering over
our heads,
sun streaming
golden through
the forest
boughs, your
golden hair
floating free,
like sheer
silk kimono
soft-streaming
in breeze
behind us.
We stop
on the
far side,
and explore
the grotto,
eat fruit,
drink bottled
water in
green glen,
caress with
eyes, kiss
with smiles,
coo love
mantras at
our fortune,
finding each
other, golden
needles under
Life’s haystacks,
our stones
now to
moss, as
we nestle
unrolling, secure
in the
floating world.
Returning now,
the high
back road,
after we
circumnavigate
the little
island, we
peddle pleasantly
the little
streets, climb
the Fort,
watch guards
change, fire
cannons, tour
history, little
shops, buy
watercolors of
lilacs, penny
candy sticks,
a lucky
horse shoe
at the
blacksmiths,
“wedding bands”—
bent old
nails—cherry
fudge samples,
tee shirts,
and taffy,
return our
room rich
with memories,
unveil our
skin with
tender hands,
tongues, our
electric eyes.
Bathing together,
warm bubbles,
breasts, buttocks,
bellies, the
Beauty of
lilac soaping
each other’s
backs, the
warm towels
of each
other’s flesh,
dry blankets
of our
hands, hearts,
of our
shared dreams.
We make
long slow
gentle love,
deliriously dizzy,
souls merged
into one
voice, the
same duet,
morphed and
blended together
as if
one song.
Dinner, the
Point, we
ride our
bikes, pain
of taut
muscles soothed
by stretching
further, a
dried cherry
topped chicken
salad plate,
warm croissants,
melon bowl,
tender lamb
medallions, a
fresh minted
apple jelly,
new baby
peas, pearled
onions, a
dry Chardonnay,
candles and
mango mousse,
the sparkle
in your
eyes, the
glint of
fire, burning,
our desires.
After supper,
sashay by
bike back
to town,
short stops,
the old
church, the
tavern, a
little market,
and back
to our
nest, number
12, our
home wherever
we rest,
wherever we
love, as
we do.
Up, at
dawn’s delight,
your smile
greets me
like a
poem, down
to breakfast,
eggs, ham,
fruit, granola,
fresh squeezed
juices, we
return to
pack, linger
longer love,
and wash,
ride return
bikes, stroll
and shop
(window mostly)
hand-in-
hand, our
yearning to
never be
“un-touched”, our
longing always
on, we
kiss lightly,
deeply, tenderly
in almost
every spot
we stop,
as memory
of shared
romance marks
all our
time, for
all time,
and catching
the 1P.M.
ferry, heading
back across
the Straits,
Big Mac
on our
right, the
Island to
our backs,
the peninsula
ahead, the
rest of
our lives
before us,
the song
of forever
on our
minds, my
hand lingers
on you
thigh, I
hate it
when you
must fly
home, but
know, but
know, I’ve
shown you
Mackinac, as
we begin
our new
journey, together,
now, on
our own.
Yeah! Maybe
I could
take you
to Mackinac,
a wild
weekend
getaway, our
Island, our
new beginning,
for voyage
not yet
charted, for
roads not
traveled, for
our lives,
yet to
come. Yeah!
Maybe I’d
take you
to Mackinac
Island, as
we begin
our new
journey, on
our own!
Can you
see it?
I want
to take
you there.
--March 31, 2002
@pth
rockon,
phishgod
phishgod
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