Hungry Dream
They gather
round the table
and gawk, chairs
pulled in tight
as a parking lot
a lute player
with the face
of a Nubian god
stalks sweet
creamy pathos
as a soothsayer
woos scry-glass
deep-throat
predictions
with machisimo
and class
but over goblets
of aching wine
the poet
struts words
hard in my eyes
his black nymphs
rock summer
to heaven
in a hot cradle
Tess Kincaid
May, 2011
Posted over on her site Willow Manor
Listed as #1 over on Magpie Tales 67
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