Tuesday, December 27, 2005


Today you poured out one too few drinks;
today you starved on a famine of loves,
this evening your heart is empty of kisses
and your dreams are thin from forgetting,
that the moon can be fog bound and mysterious
at the same time as the cruel seas open and wide
be white-winged and free on the soft warm blows
like an African pearl asleep in the black tide.

Today you rapped on my mind like a top ten;
today you picked me up so slowly, this evening
you scent my hiding place, a writers thirst sobered
up and hidden, the words found by your eyes.
Where can a poet be now but inside the moment
double whiskey singular, ice cubes floating
heat haze rising, the liquid red and black
like the bonfire of our love letters in Autumn?


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