At dawn, the dew empowered
arachnid on sparkling web,
orb weaver's zigzag fluttering
from breath as a trinket glistens
among books, hazy mirrors, doilies, lamps. Relics
in musty wood, youth's secret longing
to age. And on the wall the hand
of Jerusalem where five fish dangle,
hooks holding skeleton keys
next to the matador on velvet
with ruffled blouse. Tight muscles
encased in black. Castanets and boot
spurs spin, her red skirt flailing in
whirling dust while wrinkled fingers
feel the grooves of time. The bull
chomping at the bit as I smell orchids on
my wrist, lapping waves of ivory gown, wearing
crowns as we circle tables and hear
the crashing of plates and glass. Each
on different sides of the world.
Without a word, betrothed. The
desired object leans. Against a fence post,
against a street lamp, against you, me.
Legs cantilevered upon wide planks.
Mozart's tapestry as Salieri ponders mediocrity.
A promise to be loyal with
the secret tick of clocks.
Souls' metronome, methodic measure of time.
Copyright 2007 by the Tipton Poetry Journal.
All rights remain the exclusive property of the individual poet and may not be used without their permission.