Bed Of Ghosts Poem by Joseph Narusiewicz

Red wolves under the purple moon
She sighs like the wet tide
I have entered a dark door
Parallax lace tubes of silk
Covered in her golden pain
Eyes like castles of strange stone
Walls as high as broken glass
Maybe awakenings are over
Maybe the end is just a mirror
Is love another passport to pain

Now the circus bells sound like thunder
Pigeons feed on park benches
She loves gargoyles on the old church
We walk shrouded in rain
Panhandlers amidst the saved
Gothic lights from a forest of gray
Her red 5-inch heels click the cement
Everyone in a role
Everyone caught like a bomb shelter
We wait for a libido of silk doom

True love like a frozen river
Time settles sand in valleys of sorrow
Childhood oaks with boughs of dreams
No refuge in the ancient masks
Old swings where children played
First friends with granite memories
Joy like a vague painting, a wish
We hold hands under the lost neon
We talk of a future that already is gone
Make love to the images of silver swords

She loves midnight when darkness plays
The romance of Ann Rice
Vampires with garter belts
Moons that seem to melt into whips
Actors of Eugene O’Neil
Tennessee Williams and Poe
Blues and jazz as sultry as eyeliner
We kiss like wild wolves
Lioness that prowls these streets
I lay on a bed of ghosts