A Hangover Remains
I blinked, denying somber skies,
that spared no light between her lips and yours
but patient, pregnant umbras came,
their membranes black and blue,
their countless seaborn numbers bred
to consecrate my lone eternity.
Ripe thunderheads churned in our buttered skies
and eerie purple dragons bled.
My mind romanced by wise east winds
with thin, gray whispers; ghostly, strange.
The whitecap rhythms preordained
that all was fair on baffled seas,
and Captain Morgan cares not if I'm gull or dove;
a virgin or a saint.
I drank forgotten ecstasy and poured
rum laced confessions sweetly rotten
I stripped my sail and set it free
to ride the amber swells down to the bottom.
Forever seemed too short to be so sober,
an uptight soldier minding angels
pitching chaste, apocalyptic angles
of tender mercy and forgiveness.
You didn't see me on the deck
your burnt mahogany beneath my feet
a proud, drunk masochist wrapped up
in shrouds of wicked amethyst
enjoying dangeroues silver lashings.
I survived the rage
my spine intact, my will afloat
though plum cordial hangovers sometimes roll in
and solemn, sea-hymns tickle cyan waves
around shifting, melancholy tombs.
But Captain Morgan winks most of the time
his spiced rum lashes sweeping skies,
blonde curls of soft, dim-day elixirs spill
to damp bronze coffee grounds along
so many beaches left that I can storm.
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