TWO-STEP 

 

I watched them gig

in the pit

playing funky jazz licks

in modal timbres

made me squirm.

I thought,

I’ll blow this place

when this sweetie

be-bopped from behind

hands in my hair

said we can really groove.

Flattered, 

we danced through the night

till light

cut a ray

through her ceramic face,

cracking beauty

into puzzle fragments.

Flaking,

she started to sing 

the blues.

SYMPHONIC EVE

 

Walls pulsate

on waves 

of rhythmic Stravinsky jokes.

 

Crickets scratch song

to throated gurgles

of a bubbling spring.

 

Soft rain dances rooftop

and strokes panes 

on a mild breeze

 

painting 

vague shadows

upon sidewalks.

 

I sit here waiting,

content,

eager for sunlight’s

 

blinding glare 

to burst through darkness,

the grand finale.

SEAMSTRESS

 

Having mended

delicate strands of loneliness

tangling my heart,

she kneels in prayer

upon the floor 

with clusters of pins on her lips 

ready to bond a cloth anatomy.

Hemming, cutting

and matching thread,

her needle attaches 

bloodless seams in arcing lines

to invigorate a listless torso 

with warmth.

Still,  I dream of her

completely unwoven.

CARNIVAL

 

Ferris wheel revolves

velocity and glow,

a kaleidoscopic adventure

 

and screams of glee 

heard ‘round the grounds

duets with the singing carousel

 

which spins

to horse’s gallop

toward the house of mirrors

 

reflecting 

shadowy silhouettes

of our clandestine embrace.

 

Dozens of you

touching me

hundreds of times.

WRITER

 

He imagines us on the beach,

soft sand at our feet

just after lunch 

when warm rays and a delicate breeze

bid us rest.

 

He considers my arm around her waist,

my body sideways against bikini curves,

surrounded by seagulls 

that squawk for attention

and the litter seas throw.

 

It’s been so long for him.  

He has difficulty deciding 

what may be real

and occasionally doubts 

the idea of our very existence.

 

FLIRT

 

A propellant 

when she smiles,  

she kindles a flame

as she strokes my hair, 

kisses my cheek,

or grasps my hand 

and giggles.

I blush though 

my eyes reflect 

the fever she incites,

even as she speaks 

in riddles and feels

ungainly in my arms.

I am victim of her charms,

clever as a Mozart symphony

minus the finale.

Michael Keshigian