I miss the Scent of City Girls...Edit 4 thanks to all

[tectak]

I miss the scent of city girls: cold nights,
dark streets, fast food, gas lights.
I like the girl who wraps herself
in a gambrooned coat and woolly hat,
hinting of coffee and sick exhaust air.
If you  kiss and breathe her in
her whole day lingers on her breath;
milky latte, quickly taken,
emotive  as  a moist, warm breast
exposed to chill night wind.

I miss the risk of misconception;
that cautious, cool, uncertain sign
read from one glowing cigarette.
You light two, handing one to her…
but she  does not at first inhale.
Open-mouthed then lips tight pressed,
she holds then lets white pleasure plume.
You smile for just one murmured moment;
now comes the trick you know so well.
You draw her close around her waist.
Her hair is tousled in your face;
you suck deep,draw back, gently place
your yearning cigarette between her lips.
Before the smoke has gone....a kiss.

And while the exhalation swirls,
you slip  a hand, an arm, but slowly,
through her outer fabric shield.
Soft buttons pop, claimed comfort yours,
and with a faintly wanton word,
she lets you in.

I miss the scent of city girls,
that whiff of  bread and Danish spice.
The  city girl  who shares with others,
a flat above a  bakery; she wakes at four
as up through  loose, bare floor-boards comes
the toasted, tempting yeast-filled streams
that dream her day awake.

She bathes in turn, in a cold, damp room
with a grubby, gurgling burnt-black boiler.
Imprisoned within, the yellow flame flicks
in and out on a coward's parole.
Outside he smokes, inside he heats
the chlorined water;chemical cologne
of her fresh washed hair. Her tresses frizz
in the khamsin blast from her Turbo-Fan,
stylising and  instant drying.

Her deodorant spray (should  last a day)
will die some time in the afternoon
and then she is mine.  
She dresses from a wooden chest,
lined with crumbling paper printed
with faded naphthalene blooms.
Painstakingly she paints her face;
eyes wide-open, lips plasticised
and glossy red, to meet unrisen dawn.

Each morning she calls at the corner café.
Her chocolate croissant, too hot to hold,
she picks and tears to let the heat out.
It cools until her coffee comes, creamy, steaming;
through cute pursed lips she gently blows.
Her perfume, raw from lack of purpose,
joins gladly with the moist, warm sweetness;
up it goes into her complex cocktail,
into her cassolette. Then you are lost in the city
with a city girl.  

Tectak
August 2011
Note. Forgive me old hands but I have been tinkering with this one so a repost is due. Opinions new and old, please. It's not over yet.
The flame. He or it?

[Keith]

Hi TT this is my first read of this and what a delightful read it was very strong descriptive lines bring the whole cameo alive and I like the way the focus moves in and out from rooms to facial details, theres not much I dont like, The repeat works well and its not overdone and comes across as a celebration of the city girl rather than a sad look back, which I also like. just a few points below.

I miss the scent of city girls: cold nights,
dark streets, fast food, gas lights. Fast food v gas lights could confuse old v new maybe takeaway's and gas lights. Your poem
I like the girl who wraps herself
in a thick-cloth coat and a woolly hat,
that hints of coffee and polluted air
and if you  kiss and draw her in
her whole day lingers on her breath; lovely descriptions
milky latte, quickly taken,
emotive  as  a moist, warm breast
exposed to chill night wind. night wind sounds bilious, night air?

I miss the risk of misconstruance; Mis ris mis sonics work well here
that slipping, cautious, certain sign
from  one shared  cigarette.
You light two, she takes one…
but she  does not inhale.
Open mouthed then lips tight pressed,
white pleasure swirls and permeates.
You stop, for just one murmured moment;
a trick you know so well. You draw her close.
She lets you take  her round the waist.
Her hair is in your face and you  suck deep,
draw back then gently place
your yearning cigarette between her lips.
Before the smoke has gone....a kiss.

And while the intimate exhalation swirls,
you slip  a hand, an arm, but slowly,
through her outer fabric shield.
Soft buttons pop, warm comfort yours,
and with a faintly wanton word,
she lets you in.

I like the switch from the night time exploits to the morning after.

I miss the scent of city girls,
that whiff of  baking bread and Danish spice.
The  city girl  who shares with “others”,
a flat above a  bakery, and wakes at four a.m.
as up through  loose, bare floor boards
comes early  yeast-filled streams
that dream her day awake. nice alliteration

She bathes in turn, in a cold, damp room
where yellow and smoking the gas flame lives,
sharing the  grubby, gurgling boiler
with  city water; the chemical cologne
of  her fresh washed hair.
Her tresses frizz  in the khamsin blast
from the  turbo-fan, stylising
and  instant drying.

Her deodorant spray ( should  last a day )
will die some time in the afternoon
and then she is mine.  
She dresses from a wooden chest ,
lined with crumbling paper of napthalene blooms;
painstakingly painting her daytime face
of eyes wide-open, lips plasticised
and glossy red.

Each morning she stops at the corner café,
picks a croissant and tears it open,
though too hot to hold. Her  coffee arrives,
a little colder; still, on its surface
she  pursed-lip blows. phrasing sound off
Her perfume, raw from lack of purpose,
joins gladly with the steamy  sweetness;
up it goes into her complex cocktail, great summation line
into her cassolette. Then you are lost in the city
with a city girl.  

Tectak
August 2011
Note. Forgive me old hands but I have been tinkering with this one so a repost is due. Opinions new and old, please. It's not over yet.

A real treat for the senses this one TT very much enjoyed. Keith

[tectak]

Hi TT this is my first read of this and what a delightful read it was very strong descriptive lines bring the whole cameo alive and I like the way the focus moves in and out from rooms to facial details, theres not much I dont like, The repeat works well and its not overdone and comes across as a celebration of the city girl rather than a sad look back, which I also like. just a few points below.

I miss the scent of city girls: cold nights,
dark streets, fast food, gas lights. Fast food v gas lights could confuse old v new maybe takeaway's and gas lights. Your poem
I like the girl who wraps herself
in a thick-cloth coat and a woolly hat,
that hints of coffee and polluted air
and if you  kiss and draw her in
her whole day lingers on her breath; lovely descriptions
milky latte, quickly taken,
emotive  as  a moist, warm breast
exposed to chill night wind. night wind sounds bilious, night air?

I miss the risk of misconstruance; Mis ris mis sonics work well here
that slipping, cautious, certain sign
from  one shared  cigarette.
You light two, she takes one…
but she  does not inhale.
Open mouthed then lips tight pressed,
white pleasure swirls and permeates.
You stop, for just one murmured moment;
a trick you know so well. You draw her close.
She lets you take  her round the waist.
Her hair is in your face and you  suck deep,
draw back then gently place
your yearning cigarette between her lips.
Before the smoke has gone....a kiss.

And while the intimate exhalation swirls,
you slip  a hand, an arm, but slowly,
through her outer fabric shield.
Soft buttons pop, warm comfort yours,
and with a faintly wanton word,
she lets you in.

I like the switch from the night time exploits to the morning after.

I miss the scent of city girls,
that whiff of  baking bread and Danish spice.
The  city girl  who shares with “others”,
a flat above a  bakery, and wakes at four a.m.
as up through  loose, bare floor boards
comes early  yeast-filled streams
that dream her day awake. nice alliteration

She bathes in turn, in a cold, damp room
where yellow and smoking the gas flame lives,
sharing the  grubby, gurgling boiler
with  city water; the chemical cologne
of  her fresh washed hair.
Her tresses frizz  in the khamsin blast
from the  turbo-fan, stylising
and  instant drying.

Her deodorant spray ( should  last a day )
will die some time in the afternoon
and then she is mine.  
She dresses from a wooden chest ,
lined with crumbling paper of napthalene blooms;
painstakingly painting her daytime face
of eyes wide-open, lips plasticised
and glossy red.

Each morning she stops at the corner café,
picks a croissant and tears it open,
though too hot to hold. Her  coffee arrives,
a little colder; still, on its surface
she  pursed-lip blows. phrasing sound off
Her perfume, raw from lack of purpose,
joins gladly with the steamy  sweetness;
up it goes into her complex cocktail, great summation line
into her cassolette. Then you are lost in the city
with a city girl.  

Tectak
August 2011
Note. Forgive me old hands but I have been tinkering with this one so a repost is due. Opinions new and old, please. It's not over yet.

A real treat for the senses this one TT very much enjoyed. Keith

Keith,
a real honour from you. I will make your changes...except for fast-food. This is circa seventy...frankly, it may be pre-fast-food
This poem marks a change for me. There are few markers on the way which we are aware of contemporaneously...we don't know what we've passed 'til it's gone. I plead vera-city.
Best,
tectak

[Achebe]

I miss the scent of city girls: cold nights,
dark streets, fast food, gas lights. ...gas lights in 2016? or 2011? I googled 'Paris street lighting' just to be sure, but found nothing that suggested that they still live in the past. Unless you mean neon lights, but better cliche than confusion.
I like the girl who wraps herself
in a thick-cloth coat and a woolly hat, ...is the second 'a' needed?
that hints of coffee and polluted air ...the 'coffee' acts as a spoiler to the beautiful 'milky latte' later on. I would think that a wooly hat and thick coat would hint more of cologne than coffee.  'Polluted air' is bad. Better alternatives are 'city air', 'smokes' (not smoke), 'superslims' or 'Karelias' (the brand) - but better 3 syllables than 4 or more.
and if you  kiss and draw her in
her whole day lingers on her breath; 
milky latte, quickly taken,
emotive  as  a moist, warm breast
exposed to chill night wind. ....above 5 lines - super

I miss the risk of misconstruance;
that slipping, cautious, certain sign .....3 abstract adjectives. 'Slipping' is best - do something with it. 
from  one shared  cigarette.
You light two, she takes one… ...ellipses 
but she  does not inhale. .....do you need to repeat 'she'?
Open mouthed then lips tight pressed,
white pleasure swirls and permeates.
You stop, for just one murmured moment; ....'consent' rather than 'moment' makes more sense here, given that you're about to bum a drag off her
a trick you know so well. You draw her close.
She lets you take  her round the waist.
Her hair is in your face and you  suck deep,
draw back then gently place
your yearning cigarette between her lips.
Before the smoke has gone....a kiss. ...ellipses  
And while the intimate exhalation swirls,
you slip  a hand, an arm, but slowly,
through her outer fabric shield.
Soft buttons pop, warm comfort yours,
and with a faintly wanton word,
she lets you in. ....and afterwards, when the pizza delivery girl comes over dressed like a cheerleader nurse, does she check out the size of your double bed? Unrealistic.

I miss the scent of city girls,
that whiff of  baking bread and Danish spice.
The  city girl  who shares with “others”, ...why the quotes?
a flat above a  bakery, and wakes at four a.m. ...nice
as up through  loose, bare floor boards ...nice
comes early  yeast-filled streams...nice. How about 'yeasty'?
that dream her day awake. ...convoluted

She bathes in turn, in a cold, damp room
where yellow and smoking the gas flame lives, ...ugly inversion
sharing the  grubby, gurgling boiler
with  city water; the chemical cologne
of  her fresh washed hair.
Her tresses frizz  in the khamsin blast ...perhaps 'khamsin of / the turbo-fan' 
from the  turbo-fan, stylising
and  instant drying.

Her deodorant spray ( should  last a day )
will die some time in the afternoon
and then she is mine.  
She dresses from a wooden chest ,...nice detail
lined with crumbling paper of napthalene blooms; ...nice
painstakingly painting her daytime face ...nice
of eyes wide-open, lips plasticised
and glossy red.

Each morning she stops at the corner café,
picks a croissant and tears it open,
though too hot to hold. Her  coffee arrives,
a little colder; still, on its surface
she  pursed-lip blows.
Her perfume, raw from lack of purpose,
joins gladly with the steamy  sweetness;
up it goes into her complex cocktail,
into her cassolette. Then you are lost in the city ...nice
with a city girl.  

Tectak
August 2011
Note. Forgive me old hands but I have been tinkering with this one so a repost is due. Opinions new and old, please. It's not over yet.

It began to drag after 'dream her day awake', but is otherwise full of good descriptions.
Perhaps it might be a better idea not to combine the two themes of 'I miss the scent' and 'Life of a city girl' - it's a strange first / third person hybrid, this poem.

[tectak]

I miss the scent of city girls: cold nights,
dark streets, fast food, gas lights. ...gas lights in 2016? or 2011? I googled 'Paris street lighting' just to be sure, but found nothing that suggested that they still live in the past. Unless you mean neon lights, but better cliche than confusion. See end note
I like the girl who wraps herself
in a thick-cloth coat and a woolly hat, ...is the second 'a' needed? Generic. Different girls, different hats...hence "a". I was in London for two years
that hints of coffee and polluted air ...the 'coffee' acts as a spoiler to the beautiful 'milky latte' later on. I would think that a wooly hat and thick coat would hint more of cologne than coffee.  'Polluted air' is bad. Yes. It was. Better alternatives are 'city air', 'smokes' (not smoke), 'superslims' or 'Karelias' (the brand) - but better 3 syllables than 4 or more.
and if you  kiss and draw her in
her whole day lingers on her breath; 
milky latte, quickly taken,
emotive  as  a moist, warm breast
exposed to chill night wind. ....above 5 lines - super

I miss the risk of misconstruance;
that slipping, cautious, certain sign .....3 abstract adjectives. 'Slipping' is best - do something with it. 
from  one shared  cigarette.
You light two, she takes one… ...ellipses  I love ellipses. I think ellipses. I am not a bad person
but she  does not inhale. .....do you need to repeat 'she'?
Open mouthed then lips tight pressed,
white pleasure swirls and permeates.
You stop, for just one murmured moment; ....'consent' rather than 'moment' makes more sense here, given that you're about to bum a drag off her Fuck me. What happened to romance? Bum a fag off her? Alliteration wins. I will still look at it though. Thanks
a trick you know so well. You draw her close.
She lets you take  her round the waist.
Her hair is in your face and you  suck deep,
draw back then gently place
your yearning cigarette between her lips.
Before the smoke has gone....a kiss. ...ellipses  
And while the intimate exhalation swirls,
you slip  a hand, an arm, but slowly,
through her outer fabric shield.
Soft buttons pop, warm comfort yours,
and with a faintly wanton word,
she lets you in. ....and afterwards, when the pizza delivery girl comes over dressed like a cheerleader nurse, does she check out the size of your double bed? Unrealistic. Not in my world. Vera City

I miss the scent of city girls,
that whiff of  baking bread and Danish spice.
The  city girl  who shares with “others”, ...why the quotes? They will be gone. I did it this way to indicate the fluidity of flatmates. I never knew who would be there next day
a flat above a  bakery, and wakes at four a.m. ...nice
as up through  loose, bare floor boards ...nice
comes early  yeast-filled streams...nice. How about 'yeasty'? I had yeasty but it was  strangely urinous(and if that ain't a word it should be)
that dream her day awake. ...convoluted Hmmm. I think you are right

She bathes in turn, in a cold, damp room
where yellow and smoking the gas flame lives, ...ugly inversion ...and right again
sharing the  grubby, gurgling boiler
with  city water; the chemical cologne
of  her fresh washed hair.
Her tresses frizz  in the khamsin blast ...perhaps 'khamsin of / the turbo-fan' 
from the  turbo-fan, stylising
and  instant drying.

Her deodorant spray ( should  last a day )
will die some time in the afternoon
and then she is mine.  
She dresses from a wooden chest ,...nice detail
lined with crumbling paper of napthalene blooms; ...nice
painstakingly painting her daytime face ...nice
of eyes wide-open, lips plasticised
and glossy red.

Each morning she stops at the corner café,
picks a croissant and tears it open,
though too hot to hold. Her  coffee arrives,
a little colder; still, on its surface
she  pursed-lip blows.
Her perfume, raw from lack of purpose,
joins gladly with the steamy  sweetness;
up it goes into her complex cocktail,
into her cassolette. Then you are lost in the city ...nice
with a city girl.  

Tectak
August 2011
Note. Forgive me old hands but I have been tinkering with this one so a repost is due. Opinions new and old, please. It's not over yet.

It began to drag after 'dream her day awake', but is otherwise full of good descriptions.
Perhaps it might be a better idea not to combine the two themes of 'I miss the scent' and 'Life of a city girl' - it's a strange first / third person hybrid, this poem.

Note from the original:The poem was a nostalgic throw back to the mid sixties. Wandsworth Bridge and Covent Garden (still lit by gas street lamps today) the setting. On cold nights the unburnt gas from the lamps dropped on contact with the cold glass and if you were standing below, which many did, the stench was memorable. Covent garden had a plethora of eateries which chucked out the fast food of the era, usually involving deep frying, and this scent ,too, became emotive.

The rest of your crit is worthy. I eat all crit. Changes are coming. You will be credited accordingly.
Many thanks,
tectak[/b]

[Achebe]

Wandsworth Bridge and Covent Garden (still lit by gas street lamps today) 

ah - this is an excellent bit of trivia for my pub quiz. thanks.

[ross hamilton hill]

I miss the scent of city girls: cold nights, 
dark streets, fast food, gas lights.
I like the girl who wraps herself
in a thick-cloth coat and a woolly hat,

It loses the cadence for me with 'thick-cloth coat' 

that hints of coffee and polluted air
and if you kiss and draw her in
You switch from 'I' in the first sentence to 'you' here, why? Thsi poem is about the N not the reader. 

her whole day lingers on her breath;
This is unfortunate, suggests bad breath. 


exposed to chill night wind.
Repeats the cold nights of line 1 and is redundant.


from one shared cigarette. 
You light two, she takes one…
but she does not inhale.
This is a film cliche Cluade Rains and Bett Davis if I remember rightly. 

Her hair is in your face and you suck deep,
suck deep is too close to a sexaul cliche. 


through her outer fabric shield.
You mean her bra don't you?

Soft buttons pop, 
I like this. 

That's all I want to say, it would be much more effective if the N remained 'I' not the traditional 'you' since, the poem is so obviously about the N, I would keep it all in the first person.  I would think about cutting it down and looking for the best lines in the poem, lines that are emblematic of the scene, rather than circling round the subject with more and more detail. 

[porcelain bones]

I miss the scent of city girls: cold nights, 
dark streets, fast food, gas lights.
I like the girl who wraps herself
in a thick-cloth coat and a woolly hat,
that hints of coffee and polluted air ... switch "that" to "the hint of...", it makes more sense to read.
and if you kiss and draw her in
her whole day lingers on her breath; ... switch to "lingering", it's the present continuous you want here.
milky latte, quickly taken,
emotive as a moist, warm breast 
exposed to chill night wind.

I miss the risk of misconstruance; 
that slipping, cautious, certain sign 
from one shared cigarette. 
You light two, she takes one…
but she does not inhale.
Open mouthed then lips tight pressed,
white pleasure swirls and permeates. ... cut the "and", say "white pleasure swirls, permeates", it's more lyrical.
You stop, for just one murmured moment; 
a trick you know so well. You draw her close.
She lets you take her round the waist.
Her hair is in your face and you suck deep,
draw back then gently place
your yearning cigarette between her lips.
Before the smoke has gone....a kiss. 

And while the intimate exhalation swirls, ... you already used swirls. There's no law against using a word twice, it's just too soon said than recycled.
you slip a hand, an arm, but slowly,
through her outer fabric shield.
Soft buttons pop, warm comfort yours, 
and with a faintly wanton word, 
she lets you in.

I miss the scent of city girls, 
that whiff of baking bread and Danish spice.
The city girl who shares with “others”, ... the quotes are silly, not what you've got going on here. Find some other way to say this.
a flat above a bakery, and wakes at four a.m.
as up through loose, bare floor boards 
comes early yeast-filled streams
that dream her day awake.

She bathes in turn, in a cold, damp room
where yellow and smoking the gas flame lives,
sharing the grubby, gurgling boiler
with city water; the chemical cologne ... these two describers are quite nice.
of her fresh washed hair.
Her tresses frizz in the khamsin blast
from the turbo-fan, stylising 
and instant drying.

Her deodorant spray ( should last a day ) 
will die some time in the afternoon 
and then she is mine. 
She dresses from a wooden chest ,
lined with crumbling paper of napthalene blooms; ... there's an 'h' that goes after the 'p'
painstakingly painting her daytime face ... I don't like this, you can come up with something more interesting to describe this. Be a bit more allusive with this one, maybe something about painterly strokes.
of eyes wide-open, lips plasticised ... there should be a 'z' instead of the last 's'
and glossy red.

Each morning she stops at the corner café, 
picks a croissant and tears it open, 
though too hot to hold. Her coffee arrives,
a little colder; still, on its surface
she pursed-lip blows.
Her perfume, raw from lack of purpose, 
joins gladly with the steamy sweetness; 
up it goes into her complex cocktail,
into her cassolette. Then you are lost in the city
with a city girl. 

As a whole this is quite good. The descriptions are nice. I would've liked to have hear more from the speaker, where do his interests stem from? Is he perverted? Is he lonely? No one is without ulterior motive, and although clearly about the girl, this poem seems to me more to be about the one who is describing her. Just a thought, anyway.

[tectak]

I miss the scent of city girls: cold nights, 
dark streets, fast food, gas lights.
I like the girl who wraps herself
in a thick-cloth coat and a woolly hat,
that hints of coffee and polluted air ... switch "that" to "the hint of...", it makes more sense to read.
and if you kiss and draw her in
her whole day lingers on her breath; ... switch to "lingering", it's the present continuous you want here.
milky latte, quickly taken,
emotive as a moist, warm breast 
exposed to chill night wind.

I miss the risk of misconstruance; 
that slipping, cautious, certain sign 
from one shared cigarette. 
You light two, she takes one…
but she does not inhale.
Open mouthed then lips tight pressed,
white pleasure swirls and permeates. ... cut the "and", say "white pleasure swirls, permeates", it's more lyrical.
You stop, for just one murmured moment; 
a trick you know so well. You draw her close.
She lets you take her round the waist.
Her hair is in your face and you suck deep,
draw back then gently place
your yearning cigarette between her lips.
Before the smoke has gone....a kiss. 

And while the intimate exhalation swirls, ... you already used swirls. There's no law against using a word twice, it's just too soon said than recycled.
you slip a hand, an arm, but slowly,
through her outer fabric shield.
Soft buttons pop, warm comfort yours, 
and with a faintly wanton word, 
she lets you in.

I miss the scent of city girls, 
that whiff of baking bread and Danish spice.
The city girl who shares with “others”, ... the quotes are silly, not what you've got going on here. Find some other way to say this.
a flat above a bakery, and wakes at four a.m.
as up through loose, bare floor boards 
comes early yeast-filled streams
that dream her day awake.

She bathes in turn, in a cold, damp room
where yellow and smoking the gas flame lives,
sharing the grubby, gurgling boiler
with city water; the chemical cologne ... these two describers are quite nice.
of her fresh washed hair.
Her tresses frizz in the khamsin blast
from the turbo-fan, stylising 
and instant drying.

Her deodorant spray ( should last a day ) 
will die some time in the afternoon 
and then she is mine. 
She dresses from a wooden chest ,
lined with crumbling paper of napthalene blooms; ... there's an 'h' that goes after the 'p'
painstakingly painting her daytime face ... I don't like this, you can come up with something more interesting to describe this. Be a bit more allusive with this one, maybe something about painterly strokes.
of eyes wide-open, lips plasticised ... there should be a 'z' instead of the last 's'
and glossy red.

Each morning she stops at the corner café, 
picks a croissant and tears it open, 
though too hot to hold. Her coffee arrives,
a little colder; still, on its surface
she pursed-lip blows.
Her perfume, raw from lack of purpose, 
joins gladly with the steamy sweetness; 
up it goes into her complex cocktail,
into her cassolette. Then you are lost in the city
with a city girl. 

As a whole this is quite good. The descriptions are nice. I would've liked to have hear more from the speaker, where do his interests stem from? Is he perverted? Is he lonely? No one is without ulterior motive, and although clearly about the girl, this poem seems to me more to be about the one who is describing her. Just a thought, anyway.

Hello porce,
thanks fot this. The piece has  been around for a long time now but you are the first to spot napHthalene! Plasticisers is UK. As I am.
It has been pointed out that there is an I-you switch in the first half. Yes. I keep it mehinks. I want to get empathetic response from male readers...it's that kind of a poem.
swirls and permeates? Hmm. swirls, permeates is more lyrical? I don't agree BUT am not a great fan of anding. I will.look again. Double swirls is a good catch. Thank you. Credit.
More crits like the pinting of the daytime face than don't so it is democratically stuck. The quotes around "others", same democracy, will have to go. Shame, really, because it implied a veracity which I could not and cannot get without the device. Where do you live? I live in a flat above a bakery. You live alone? No I share with "others".
A very useful crit. Many thanks again.
tectak

[Erthona]

I miss the scent of city girls: cold nights, (I think leaving "cold nights on this line is more about the look of the lineation, as putting it on the second line improves the cadence remarkably)
dark streets, fast food, gas lights.
I like the girl who wraps herself
in a thick-cloth coat and a woolly hat, (why "thick-cloth coat" when "thick coat" conveys basically the same thing and is less cumbersome? "in a thick coat and woolly hat"--cadence-- )
that hints of coffee and polluted air
and if you kiss and draw her in
her whole day lingers on her breath;
milky latte, quickly taken, (do you really need the comma after latte?) ("milky latte, taken quick" --cadence--)
emotive as a moist, warm breast (saying emotive is like putting up a neon sign. Why not "moist as a warm breast"?)
exposed to chill night wind.

I miss the risk of misconstruance; (nice non-word)
that slipping, cautious, certain sign
from one shared cigarette.
You light two, she takes one…
but she does not inhale.
Open mouthed then lips tight pressed,
white pleasure swirls and permeates. (If she does not inhale the smoke will be blue.)
You stop, for just one murmured moment; (for just one murmured moment you stop
a trick you know so well. You draw her close. (move second sentence to next line, increases staccato affect)
She lets you take her round the waist.
Her hair is in your face and you suck deep,
draw back then gently place
your yearning cigarette between her lips.  (How does a cigarette "yearn"? Yes I know phallic image, doesn't really work, seems contrived))
Before the smoke has gone....a kiss.

And while the intimate exhalation swirls, (just say no to "and")
you slip a hand, an arm, but slowly, (this line is a bit nonsensical, needs rewording)
through her outer fabric shield.
Soft buttons pop, warm comfort yours, ("warm comfort's yours". No comma before the "and" of the next line)
and with a faintly wanton word,
she lets you in.

I miss the scent of city girls,
that whiff of baking bread and Danish spice. (nice cadence)
The city girl who shares with “others”,  (maybe "a city girl...")
a flat above a bakery, and wakes at four a.m. ("with a flat above the bakery; who wakes at four am")
as up through loose, bare floor boards ("when up..." drop comma)
comes early yeast-filled streams (steam)
that dream her day awake.

She bathes in turn, in a cold, damp room (drop "in turn" does nothing)
where yellow and smoking the gas flame lives,  (what? simplify)
sharing the grubby, gurgling boiler
with city water; the chemical cologne (Period after "water" new line. Make one sentence starting from "the chemical cologne" to end of stanza.)
of her fresh washed hair.
Her tresses frizz in the khamsin blast (does a blow dryer really need this kind of description, why are you describing something with which everyone is familiar? You describe a common object in terms of a less common occurrence. Seems a bit backwards.)
from the turbo-fan, stylising
and instant drying.

Her deodorant spray ( should last a day )
will die some time in the afternoon
and then she is mine.
She dresses from a wooden chest ,
lined with crumbling paper of napthalene blooms; (Sometimes there is a point to using a reference that is obscure or ambiguous, or I suppose both, I do not think this is the case with "napthalene blooms". I suppose there must have been such a creature, but it must certainly be British and I wonder about how widespread its remembered use from that time frame. Is this a drying substance, or actually flowers?)
painstakingly painting her daytime face
of eyes wide-open, lips plasticised
and glossy red. (cadence killer)

Each morning she stops at the corner café,
picks a croissant and tears it open,
though too hot to hold. Her coffee arrives, (enjambment serves no purpose)
a little colder; still, on its surface
she pursed-lip blows. (awkward)
Her perfume, raw from lack of purpose,
joins gladly with the steamy sweetness;
up it goes into her complex cocktail,
into her cassolette. Then you are lost in the city
with a city girl. (Nice ending, but rhythmically is flat.)

____________________________________________________________________________
As I had already critiqued this once before I did not expect to have much to say, however I focused more on the rhythmical elements and whether the word phrasing support a cadence. A lot of my suggestions are for the support of the cadence. I would like to go back and block out the rhythmical section against the flat sections, however, my time and energy are both about spent. Must go now.

dale

[tectak]

I miss the scent of city girls: cold nights, (I think leaving "cold nights on this line is more about the look of the lineation, as putting it on the second line improves the cadence remarkably)
dark streets, fast food, gas lights.
I like the girl who wraps herself
in a thick-cloth coat and a woolly hat, (why "thick-cloth coat" when "thick coat" conveys basically the same thing and is less cumbersome? "in a thick coat and woolly hat"--cadence-- )
that hints of coffee and polluted air
and if you kiss and draw her in
her whole day lingers on her breath;
milky latte, quickly taken, (do you really need the comma after latte?) ("milky latte, taken quick" --cadence--)
emotive as a moist, warm breast (saying emotive is like putting up a neon sign. Why not "moist as a warm breast"?)
exposed to chill night wind.

I miss the risk of misconstruance; (nice non-word)
that slipping, cautious, certain sign
from one shared cigarette.
You light two, she takes one…
but she does not inhale.
Open mouthed then lips tight pressed,
white pleasure swirls and permeates. (If she does not inhale the smoke will be blue.)
You stop, for just one murmured moment; (for just one murmured moment you stop
a trick you know so well. You draw her close. (move second sentence to next line, increases staccato affect)
She lets you take her round the waist.
Her hair is in your face and you suck deep,
draw back then gently place
your yearning cigarette between her lips.  (How does a cigarette "yearn"? Yes I know phallic image, doesn't really work, seems contrived))
Before the smoke has gone....a kiss.

And while the intimate exhalation swirls, (just say no to "and")
you slip a hand, an arm, but slowly, (this line is a bit nonsensical, needs rewording)
through her outer fabric shield.
Soft buttons pop, warm comfort yours, ("warm comfort's yours". No comma before the "and" of the next line)
and with a faintly wanton word,
she lets you in.

I miss the scent of city girls,
that whiff of baking bread and Danish spice. (nice cadence)
The city girl who shares with “others”,  (maybe "a city girl...")
a flat above a bakery, and wakes at four a.m. ("with a flat above the bakery; who wakes at four am")
as up through loose, bare floor boards ("when up..." drop comma)
comes early yeast-filled streams (steam)
that dream her day awake.

She bathes in turn, in a cold, damp room (drop "in turn" does nothing)
where yellow and smoking the gas flame lives,  (what? simplify)
sharing the grubby, gurgling boiler
with city water; the chemical cologne (Period after "water" new line. Make one sentence starting from "the chemical cologne" to end of stanza.)
of her fresh washed hair.
Her tresses frizz in the khamsin blast (does a blow dryer really need this kind of description, why are you describing something with which everyone is familiar? You describe a common object in terms of a less common occurrence. Seems a bit backwards.)
from the turbo-fan, stylising
and instant drying.

Her deodorant spray ( should last a day )
will die some time in the afternoon
and then she is mine.
She dresses from a wooden chest ,
lined with crumbling paper of napthalene blooms; (Sometimes there is a point to using a reference that is obscure or ambiguous, or I suppose both, I do not think this is the case with "napthalene blooms". I suppose there must have been such a creature, but it must certainly be British and I wonder about how widespread its remembered use from that time frame. Is this a drying substance, or actually flowers?)
painstakingly painting her daytime face
of eyes wide-open, lips plasticised
and glossy red. (cadence killer)

Each morning she stops at the corner café,
picks a croissant and tears it open,
though too hot to hold. Her coffee arrives, (enjambment serves no purpose)
a little colder; still, on its surface
she pursed-lip blows. (awkward)
Her perfume, raw from lack of purpose,
joins gladly with the steamy sweetness;
up it goes into her complex cocktail,
into her cassolette. Then you are lost in the city
with a city girl. (Nice ending, but rhythmically is flat.)

____________________________________________________________________________
As I had already critiqued this once before I did not expect to have much to say, however I focused more on the rhythmical elements and whether the word phrasing support a cadence. A lot of my suggestions are for the support of the cadence. I would like to go back and block out the rhythmical section against the flat sections, however, my time and energy are both about spent. Must go now.

dale

Heartfelt thanks, dale.
You have spent an encouraging amount of time on this which I will take to mean that you think it is worth it. I think, I know, it requires tidying up. Thy will be done...as well.as "others".
Best,
tectak

[Erthona]

Oh yes, I like it quite a bit. A very good piece (no pun intended)   That's why I was starting to poke at the cadence, if the material wasn't so strong, I wouldn't care.

dale

[tectak]

Oh yes, I like it quite a bit. A very good piece (no pun intended)   That's why I was starting to poke at the cadence, if the material wasn't so strong, I wouldn't care.

dale

misconstruance. Whoever would have thought it not? After all the iterations this piece has been through it took until now for the correction. What a misconception.I REALLY thought it was legit. I wonder how many more there are...no,don't go there.
The naphthalene blooms? A wooden chest was often lined with flouncy, floral wallpaper and used to store clothes in cramped accomodation. Mothballs (naphthalene) were used to orotect from moth larvae. That is all.
Thanks again,
tectak

[porcelain bones]

I miss the scent of city girls: cold nights, 
dark streets, fast food, gas lights.
I like the girl who wraps herself
in a thick-cloth coat and a woolly hat,
that hints of coffee and polluted air ... switch "that" to "the hint of...", it makes more sense to read.
and if you kiss and draw her in
her whole day lingers on her breath; ... switch to "lingering", it's the present continuous you want here.
milky latte, quickly taken,
emotive as a moist, warm breast 
exposed to chill night wind.

I miss the risk of misconstruance; 
that slipping, cautious, certain sign 
from one shared cigarette. 
You light two, she takes one…
but she does not inhale.
Open mouthed then lips tight pressed,
white pleasure swirls and permeates. ... cut the "and", say "white pleasure swirls, permeates", it's more lyrical.
You stop, for just one murmured moment; 
a trick you know so well. You draw her close.
She lets you take her round the waist.
Her hair is in your face and you suck deep,
draw back then gently place
your yearning cigarette between her lips.
Before the smoke has gone....a kiss. 

And while the intimate exhalation swirls, ... you already used swirls. There's no law against using a word twice, it's just too soon said than recycled.
you slip a hand, an arm, but slowly,
through her outer fabric shield.
Soft buttons pop, warm comfort yours, 
and with a faintly wanton word, 
she lets you in.

I miss the scent of city girls, 
that whiff of baking bread and Danish spice.
The city girl who shares with “others”, ... the quotes are silly, not what you've got going on here. Find some other way to say this.
a flat above a bakery, and wakes at four a.m.
as up through loose, bare floor boards 
comes early yeast-filled streams
that dream her day awake.

She bathes in turn, in a cold, damp room
where yellow and smoking the gas flame lives,
sharing the grubby, gurgling boiler
with city water; the chemical cologne ... these two describers are quite nice.
of her fresh washed hair.
Her tresses frizz in the khamsin blast
from the turbo-fan, stylising 
and instant drying.

Her deodorant spray ( should last a day ) 
will die some time in the afternoon 
and then she is mine. 
She dresses from a wooden chest ,
lined with crumbling paper of napthalene blooms; ... there's an 'h' that goes after the 'p'
painstakingly painting her daytime face ... I don't like this, you can come up with something more interesting to describe this. Be a bit more allusive with this one, maybe something about painterly strokes.
of eyes wide-open, lips plasticised ... there should be a 'z' instead of the last 's'
and glossy red.

Each morning she stops at the corner café, 
picks a croissant and tears it open, 
though too hot to hold. Her coffee arrives,
a little colder; still, on its surface
she pursed-lip blows.
Her perfume, raw from lack of purpose, 
joins gladly with the steamy sweetness; 
up it goes into her complex cocktail,
into her cassolette. Then you are lost in the city
with a city girl. 

As a whole this is quite good. The descriptions are nice. I would've liked to have hear more from the speaker, where do his interests stem from? Is he perverted? Is he lonely? No one is without ulterior motive, and although clearly about the girl, this poem seems to me more to be about the one who is describing her. Just a thought, anyway.

Hello porce,
thanks fot this. The piece has  been around for a long time now but you are the first to spot napHthalene! Plasticisers is UK. As I am.
It has been pointed out that there is an I-you switch in the first half. Yes. I keep it mehinks. I want to get empathetic response from male readers...it's that kind of a poem.
swirls and permeates? Hmm. swirls, permeates is more lyrical? I don't agree BUT am not a great fan of anding. I will.look again. Double swirls is a good catch. Thank you. Credit.
More crits like the pinting of the daytime face than don't so it is democratically stuck. The quotes around "others", same democracy, will have to go. Shame, really, because it implied a veracity which I could not and cannot get without the device. Where do you live? I live in a flat above a bakery. You live alone? No I share with "others".
A very useful crit. Many thanks again.
tectak

Hey, tectak.
What I meant about accentuating the characteristics of the speaker in this poem I meant in the sense that the speaker is clearly the interested party here, the girl is either an imagining or an encounter in retrospect, but the reader never really becomes clear as to the speaker's motives. All the descriptions are given of her by the speaker and clearly the speaker has an affliction for this girl, but it doesn't go any further than that. You don't need to have the speaker talk about themself, but you can show it by the details they choose to describe. If its a perverse imagining, have the speaker describe her removing her clothes at the end of the day, if they are regretting something they've lost have them jealously describe her encounters with others (it seemed like you were going in that direction with the " "others" " bit). Your current details are nice, but they don't progress the poem's narrative in any way.