PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

And she would stretch herself

across the long wicker sofa

waiting

for one of the gargoyles

to lift a foot

Another wispy moonlit night

propped

on a goose feather pillow – just waiting

Another buttery southern night of heat

too thick

to hack with an axe

Another night in the countryside

half asleep,

watching – for any gargoyle movement

As hot Louisiana finger-fog

snaked across the

water

and kissed the bank with dread

Her glowing incandescent smile

and the scent

of her sweet nectarous skin

were enough

to call miracles out of the air

And whenever I saw her

any weariness

in my body, always drained away

And she would always tip her chin up

to receive me,

like a little hungry bird

And I would pinch her

middle toe

and give her another gin-spiked

lemonade
before nestling-up beside her
with a salty kiss

folding her perspiring legs

over my lap,

as the hot Louisiana heat, licked away

And I would brush an

ice cube

along her inner thigh

Till she would pry it away from

my fingers

and toss it

against the Banyan Tree

And then, having gotten rid of it

she would reach over

to the

terracotta table

to hand me a cigarette

And we would light up together

in the moonlight

looking over the weary countryside

Listening

to the groaning cows

lost

in their foggy pastures

As the smoke of our cigarette swirled up

and whirled away

over dew-covered meadows

And the weary finger-fog

rolled closer

and crept along the ground like a serpent

in the moonlight

Slowly passing through the iron-wrought gate

of the old Spanish graveyard

to bring its magic – to the ancient gargoyles

~/~