Nyneve
Katherine Holmes
Secret passageways of sleep
led me to a room
and a coffeetable
clique of cushions and fascinations
away from the brand-new banalities
the shopped-for impudences
right off the street
of our backwater backdoor greeting
but I had taken the secret passageways
of parties, wanting to
hang at the edge
of the exclusive coffeetable when
the Merlin of first experience
appeared out of
nowhere (like a
joke or a punning last name)
his was the outlandish introduction
an atavistic kiss
gaucheing everyone out
awful because such sorcery could happen
Tom Jones could sing, “Oh, What
a Beautiful Morning”
to a crowd of
coffee-needy philharmonic musicians.
I said, “Look what you've done now”
at the turned away
coffeetable heads
and we were alone together again when
we were not, so of course he vanished
and I made my way
to a rickety party
where I no longer had a ride home.
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