Opera Poem by John Rickell

Two glasses on the table
standing tall crystal clear,
strangers as we talked,
waiting, we sat in velvet chairs,
curved arms and sculptured legs
delicate feet stretching, languid
seducing as we spoke, choices,
conversation charged and anxious
thrilled in expectations.
We made our choice simple melon,
neither of us hungry.
This was prelude to an opera.
Called to the table, I held her chair
thank you she said and smiled..
The spoon to her lips sweet flesh
were I the spoon, were I the melon
the meal not yet begun!
I approved the wine, white, not too chilled;
the waiter poured and left the bottle
in the ice and water;
we raised our glasses, laughed a little
the overture, begun
her shoulders hidden by her hair
black as night blue hints in the lamp-light
her ring-less fingers gentle with the goblet.
Soon, time for coffee....
across the dessert table we talked into the night
until, in deference to the waiter,
we rose and made our way to the sinuous stairs,
taking my proffered arm she dreamed with me,
as we leaned to each climbing the coiling stairway......
found a door named twenty two
the overture fading we entered the procenium arch.........
curtains sliding open, the opera now begun
The scene was set sheets drawn back inviting
The shower warm and intimate,
bathrobe slipping to the floor
She kneeled, as though to pray,
but she sought another heaven
Bade me kneel to humbly share the dream.