For Lady Lynne

New York days and nights
Lodged in the back
Of my memory bank
Like tiny splinters beneath
A hangnail

My mind stoned like
Merlin the magician stirring
A magic potion
On a starless night
Lost in a whirlwind of lust
That comes and goes
Like the tide

My words empty as a tramp's pocket
As you allow me to probe the
Lining of your soul
Making it one last time to the
Music of a thousand crickets
Rubbing their hind legs in applause

copyright 2007 A. D. Winans
bio
Barnwood magazine
Contents 07