painting by gustav klimt
One December
klimt was waiting inside my honda
the candy wrapper night you walked
me from your paint box to the stars,
yes the night your eyes caught fire
and melted to pots of butterscotch
that sank into my heart on wings.
all the way home he kept pulling songs
and caramel pies from the secret lining
in the top of his gold satin fishing hat,
lighting candles the color of sunset
and dabbing my hair with moonshine
he’d made himself from antique lace.
these days, drifting drunk on poems
and new violins, I hear the patter of
exhaling leaves in this backyard
and the chatter of morning doves
planning baby showers and i wonder
if you’ve found your mountain yet.
Jannie Funster
Posted over on her site Jannie Funster
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