a pacific night
the first night she sits by herself
in the coffee shop, reading.
i was sitting alone in the coffee shop, reading.
reading over a cup of decaf,
alone, the place is empty.
annie comes by, i've seen her around.
she sits across from me,
lights flashing across her forehead
like the goodyear blimp. we make conversation.
the lights glow brighter, evermore insistent. i am not sure.
the next night is the same,
but we leave together.
the stairs to her second floor apartment
are on the outside of the building,
and the dreary, dark, dank, depressing night follows us up the steps
like a country and western song,
the wooden steps sodden,
the soft west-coast pine
saturated with pacific drift,
drifting up the stairs,
drifting into bed,
the pacific swells, the waves,
the surf, the cry of gulls, the sand pipers
stabbing at coquina and dancing away from incoming waves.
beautiful, thick, long, black, sutorētohea
spread across white pillows
legs opening and closing, sea-mist scent, bivalve lovers
white sheets whiter in the moonlight
legs whiter in the moonlight, but jet black there
diving through the kelp forest
bottle-green, translucent, looking up to see the moonlight,
fractals of moonlight, and it is silent,
diving thirty, forty, sixty, a hundred meters below,
among the forest floor,
urchins, sea-stars, anemones,
in slow motion,
goose barnacles in slow motion, but slowly, slowly
we come to the surface
taking in huge lungfuls of air, annie, pale, the lights flickering,
flickering, flicker, flicker and fade to black,
but for the moonlight on her eyelashes,
on her thighs,
on the white sheets.
Poetry by one trick pony
Read 655 times
Written on 2015-07-08 at 05:50
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