On the beach at New Moon’s rising third,
Forty-two waning from Full before
Forty-two waxing towards Full to be,
I sit between Salt Water and Sea Sand
Waiting, Wondering, Watching for her.
Sand Crabs silently shuffle against Spearings’ splashes, and
I dive, swimming between Devilfish and Deepest Bluesea,
Only to surface empty-handed.
A vaporetto glides between
the rocks of the jetty and the hardwoods of the quay;
I board and stop amidships, the sole passenger.
She is not there.
To Venezia, rising in darkness between Lagoon and Sky, and
I stand centred on the span of the Ponte di Rialto.
A bus stops and I board, sitting in the middle
On the back bench of the unlit vehicle.
Dim streetlights barely illuminate the road ahead, and
I focus each eye separately. The line of lights doubles
Then converges, and a woman appears,
Shimmering and shimmying in silken shift,
A single feather in a silken band rises from her forehead.
She sits on my lap and speaks softly, clearly, resonantly,
“You will come home with me.”
Her inflection doesn’t quite stress the start
Nor does it quite rise at the end;
Neither request nor command, it quietly observes.
The bus stops and the driver announces
“Nineteen Twenty-Five Erzébet Hid.”
The woman vanishes and I disembark, searching again.
The span’s spired towers are unfamiliar;
It is the old bridge, long ago destroyed in war.
A glimmer on the far side, and I intone “Erzébet.”
As I leave Buda she departs from Pest, and we pause,
Each one step from the middle.
Be it Danube, or Rubicon, it is crossed.
She steps forward, out of, through, her flapper’s shift,
and I do the same, tuxedo falling to bridge’s deck.
Her arms wrap ‘round my neck as mine encircle her waist,
And we press. Breasts and chest touch and skin dissolves,
As we pass into one another. In a flash
Our hearts beat beside themselves, and
We are on Margitzeget.
In the Lover’s Tower on the Island,
Our lips meet and part, allowing tongues to join.
Again a flash as our heads and minds merge,
A single plume rising from their conjunction,
And we stand in the centre of Roebling’s span,
Straddling the East River in an intersection of Stone and Iron.
The in-between of my closed legs enters
The in-between of her open legs,
Above and below and above and below the Chesapeake
We shimmy and shimmer, wax and wane,
Then quiver and quake into a single radiant orb.
Last edited by Tio_Narratore : 07-09-2013 at 10:44 AM.