Thursday, 20 October 2011

sherwood road

at night you are a mysterious girl
in a nightdress of leaves tied with wire,
draped in the mist of witching hour -
lurking behind sharp corners, where

spectral shadows descend from leafless
branches: the trees' free-spirited
bareness bearing down like drunken
eyes, mascara-laden; or wild, lusty

sirens urging me onto the rocks: sharp
flexing canines buried in the hanging
gloom of cliffs. This precarious cliff-walk
home, ill-omen swirling, like Macbeth's

return. I avert my eyes from your dark
and peripheral driftings, focus on the path:
the real, solid concrete; and finally,
wonderfully, feel the door resonate

behind my head, scrape the chain
into its sheath, palm my way through hallway
fog, and with a single electric twist bring
Mediterranean light to my skin - I feel

my shoulders sag like
contented hammocks.
she is dispelled to my dreams.

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