gingatao

The Sonnet of Whistles and Trills

I miss you
though the poet’s obsession with birdsong persists
after all needs are met and each moments eternal,
forest animal noises nocturnal rejoice
in duplicitous infinite variations on bliss
a stolen and sparkling tinily smiling quick kiss.

Slide trombone and oboe song occur below,
light curls luxuriate in thighs and smiles
divide your quick anticipation
of one almost destination,
a long slow song of tides disguised
on skin so shy it rises at the merest sigh,

like this, the least unsubtle synonym
for I remember once the simplest kiss,
now missed.

Rites and Obligations.

wrote a poem, rota, huth
by rote nor arcane rite
‘how many metaphors must you mix’
he says sliding it into the coozie
and placing it gently on the bridge
at the lip of the grand piano.

there never was a musician
who didn’t flirt with arrogance a
claim, staked and
succeeded, succession,
one must have an exit plan
said F.

as soon as you enter the room
there will be an instinct
mistaken for perfume
Prague perhaps
a rain driven hustle
under streetlights and the
clatter of tanks.

Remember Greece retracing
Byron’s club foot Frankenstein
clumping up the hill under
the obvious influence of
various esoteric drugs,

realising Crowley was quoting
Rabelais and the joy of the sun
risen over the Aegean,

each moment a
gift you gave

had given