the gaslight

a misty memory rises

from a voice that never grates

it rings me on

an antique telephone

in my early morning

as sons begin to rise and the world

remains asleep

the gaslight

in once bohemian clifton

the intersection

of telford and ludlow streets

if i stand and close my eyes

i can’t remember to forget

starry eyed little boys

eating blackberry chocolate chip ice cream

with perpetual eagerness in a concrete park

across the walk

the lights atop their poles

cast shadows in full sunlight

like a magritte painting

there is an oddness within the realism

flower pots along the sidewalk

grow jessamine county blossoms

inside the velvet petals

germinates the secret of how to kiss

i place my fingers to his mouth

the other hand behind his neck

he wears a derby

and counts the days spent at church hill downs

this mount is the auburn home of the taft family

but it is us who have made history

in the rain

dodging determined traffic

with a new york times for an umbrella

we make our way to biagio’s bistro

plotting double barrelled espresso

and italian cakes

after on the house tabs are paid

and go behind the bar and make it yourself

old country mother’s eye contact

manhattans are made

arm in arm old lovers

make their way past the esquire theatre

upon the marquis the black swan

and rocky horror which you are never

you lead me into pangea

where we broach wuthering heights

a moss stone reminder of longing

for that day

we argued in the street

and i loved you enough

to take your hand as you looked at me

with bedroom sighs

and drag you up the stairs

i used my lavender ribbon ringed keys

to turn a crystal door knob

and find an opera

spilling forth

onto musical


4 replies on “the gaslight”

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