Transported in Place

The spices she put on the lamb,
The cumin and the cardamom,
The pepper and the cinnamon,
Are incense in the evening air.
The meat itself is mostly
Gone. A little wine is left to drink,
But we have other things to do.
Her kaftan slides toward her
Ankles as she sniffs and says,
“It's almost as if we're in
Merrakech.” “Perhaps,”
I say as I undress, 'but I am
Happy here.”



Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 41 times
Written on 2014-12-19 at 22:09

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