Thursday, May 5, 2011

Poem: A Cruel Mistress Is a Cruel Mistress

The moon is in the seventh house to the left,
up from the corner, your left, not mine.
The seventh seal bounces a beach ball on her snout.
The beach balled.
Don't ask.
Your trousers got sandy.
His dancing shoes were abducted by kelp.
Kelp! Kelp! the heels called.
Her gown hemmed and hawed.
The moon is hemmed in by hope.
The seventh sandal has no soul.
Death stalks celery.
Your soul, She moons my beach ball.
The heels grieve for their leather uppers.
If I were a carpenter you'd be a county fair.
A cigar is just a cigarillo happy to see you.
The dance of the seventh veil
distracted the kelp.
The first six have no rhythm.
The heels had a new hero while the soul
slipped into Her gown.
You are part of my journey,
She whispered to the bodice.
Venus threw water on the moon.
Get a room, the sun said,
as the towel sang
it wanted to be loved by you,
by you,
and nobody else.

the above written by Sarah Sarai in celebration of taking a day off to spend with beautiful nieces. o, a leisurely morning. o, coffee, o, eggs, o yes.

No comments:

Post a Comment