Glass

Glass

I vowed never again to cross
that street. But the snake charmer
laid his flute along my spine.

Sodium light painted my shadow crooked
across the restaurant’s plate glass,
my breath quickening against the pane.

Inside, mint teas, incense, and spices
tinted the air. A belly dancer timed
finger cymbals and a coined sash

to a Baglama’s dulcet strumming.
Hand-woven tapestries thickened the walls’
tugging at their connecting studs.

Couches crouched low and sensuous—
every divan and ottoman adorned
with scented pillows and entwined legs.

She and I were only here once I reminded
myself. Still, the music pulsed the glass
beneath my fingers as hookah pipes

rose and fell like empires, like longing.


Indigo Moor

from ETHOS AND THE DREAMWHEEL.
Posted over on Indigo Moor.com