Dinner Poem by Mark R Slaughter

Eyes green -
Those aspen leaves -
Fill with blood-thought mind

Arms willow-form
Drift as legs
When long and lofty,
Glide the glass of cool-clear wine
Towards my trembling hand

Heart hums in tune
While veins trickle -feed a path
Along the sad silk of skin -
Your tributaries of life

All this I see
Across the rising air
From that bashful candle -
It knows, gracefully, it knows

Little yellow flame
Floundering like a naked ballerina
Seeking out a place to hide her anorexic frame

Stage fright overwhelms
You close down your lashes
We are the end

Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2014