I dream of Venice Beach, <br />and you slither across the sand <br />smelling of sea salt and sex. <br /> <br />You whisper to me of crystal ships <br />and spanish caravans while I blush <br />hot white and try to squelch my craving. <br /> <br />My strawberry mane entices <br />your hollow Wedgwood eyes, <br />begging for your fevered stroke. <br /> <br />Singing of perceptions and prayers, <br />you offer a soft serenade under <br />a hazy sky of purplish salmon. <br /> <br />Whiskey words and smoky voice <br />cast no veil on your charms, <br />though you choke and stumble. <br /> <br />A god of rock can mesmerize with <br />bare feet and wire-rimmed glasses. <br />I’d still be hungry. <br /> <br />A thinker in leather, who smudged <br />glass mirrors with the goal of distortion. <br />Too surreal, for a Warhol fan. <br /> <br />As you lean in, and shyly speak <br />my ear is slightly tickled. Your breath <br />is sweet, but love, you really need a shave. <br /> <br />Speak not of the basin on Rue Beautreillis, <br />or etched stones of Pere Lachaise; <br />only prick me with your needle. <br /> <br />You warble ballads of Edith, <br />and hail ‘poor’ Oscar’s words, <br />blind to what it is you have in common. <br /> <br />I’d touch you if you weren’t afraid <br />of warm fingers on your cold skin, <br />or rips in the flimsy paper. <br /> <br />I’d cook duck with orange sauce <br />and offer it up, on the finest plate, <br />if I thought that you'd eat it. <br /> <br />Drink me, drink me! <br /> <br />Floating wonder words and fairytales <br />are the blood and breath <br />which bind me to your side. <br /> <br />We wait for the sun to rest in silence, <br />hearing the delphian carousel <br />as it tinkles its haunting aria. <br /> <br />Jim, I hear your hymn.<br /><br />Tara Teeling<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/a-vision-of-mr-morrison/
