CASTLE of SPIRITS
The nape of my neck, unexpectedly teased -
by a stray draft wafting like culs of stringed cobweb,
clinging to the hairs of my scruff as i -
shuffle my feet along the cracks of this old parquet floor.
I stop to brush away the silk-thread from my neck,
but nothing is there, nothing, and then i -
hear the whistle of the wind revealing its ruse,
bouncing 'gainst the walls of a spine narrow hallway,
claustrophobically surfing for the exodus
of open windows.
The inhale of mahogany and rosewood -
ancient castles capture moments through sense,
echo and solitude.
You and i share our lonliness
over sips of Jeroboam, and i -
wonder if the legend King of Israel
would imbibe with us, if our spirits
could sojourn back by sundial -
to eighth century b.c....renounce Judah,
allow us to stay the night with in his castle.
You tell me the wine has made your flesh very warm, and you -
ask me if i'd spill the caraf o'er your moist olive breasts,
place my lips between the streaking drops of spirit juice, and i -
follow them on their warm, southern course.
This castle, now my throne of thirst, and you -
are my poteable Queen, my chalice of yen, and i -
never tasted wine so sweet before,
then again, i always knew a mere dropp of you
could intoxicate me so.
~F j R~
poem by Frank James Ryan Jr.
Added by Poetry Lover
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