Slip: Dreaming in Marseille

I never expected
to fall like this      not
for dated charms
in primary colors-
your flattened edges   clean
refined

But for a certain Witch
in Copenhagen, I park my punk      agree
to meet       let you        in      even
take you often         to bed

And each night that I      hold you
tuck you between       sheets      you slip
to dreams   offer

prismatic stars       linguistic strings
strange tongued      dignitaries
arriving all night   until I begin to savor
the gardens    soirees   your maritime stories
told by the stables    your kiss      the smell of leather
Parisian wines                  horse dung

                                       Tara Linda 4/2/2017

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Author: tara linda

Musician, performer, poet, jewelry maker

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