This Magic (A Poem)

This magic

Parades nude

With only Christmas bells

On the ten tapping toes

Painted a lovely shade of peach

Climbing up chalk hills

…leaving behind little soft reminders

She reaches the top

And calls out with a graceful yodel

Which echoes silver in the frosty air

And I can now hear her

Clear

For the first time

As silent crowds gather at the

Foot of the mountain

With mouths agape

And fingers pointed

Up

This dear girl

Can really

Bring it home

And standing on top of the world

Confessing her true love ways

She is all licorice and giggles

Which leaves me

Bending at the waist

Laughing

Uproariously

If I didn’t

Fear the heights

I’d

Be along side of her now

Shouting out

But I am lowered down on the bed

Alone

Simply looking

Skyward

This magic

Frivolous affair

Has got me smiling

Ear to ear

As she begins her gentle descent

Back home to me

Where sex will be number one on the long list

Of things to do

Now that she has returned from

The hike to end all hikes

And I’ll melt by her frigid feet

Reading her love notes

And couplets of joy

This is fine

This is good

And I will sleep inside of her

With a grin and popcorn warmth

Magic…a man can live his whole life

In this delightful cocoon

And Lord knows

I will

Not leave her side again

I will tend to her

(I’ll say it again)

I will tend to her

And I am out of my tree

Probably but

She just blows me raspberries

With a wink and a tossing of her hair

Magic again

Within The Ropes

puffy and aged

caramel running through

my veins

with sugar boat feet

tender with

every step

across this

blanketed floor

why smile

when the hatred

is strong?

 I cut across

the wrist with a

copper red razor

and the salt line

that pumps

everything brown

into my resin heart

lets loose

a yeast infection

in my dying ears

with no intention

to fight off the  vices

that let the

pain just

roll  in

like sick blood waves

splattered across

the pubic brine

and who among us

will get in the ring

to stomp me

out of a 40 year old funk?

this squeezing ennui

that causes heart attacks

in most victims

   but not me

 as the sitar plays

in decadence

of the lotus position

 the smoking lust of

pure thighs

all tied up

and ready for

a bareback collapse

this evening

with milky riots

shining like

a million gold coins

in the diseased

water fountain

from which the

dogs of war

drink from

lapping up every last drop

so

find me here

open your strawberry eyes

and take a gander

at the misfortune

that surrounds me

like a bad habit

aura

like nicotine fingers

in your army green panties

feeling my way around

the Braille clitoris

rubbing for the moan

the sound of you

coming closer to

the finish line

while

the band ends its march

across your bedroom floor

and the tuba player

puts his hands up

in the stale air

as the trumpeter

pulls the trigger

and to the surprise

of everyone

it is

I

who

lands on the floor

with a bloody

thump

signaling

the end

of this once

proud family man

and the ropes are

torn off the ring

and the bell

chimes loud

echoing in the

frosted January

air