Vision Ghost

Rookie - 5 Points (24/01/1979 / Epsom, East Surrey)

Masquerade - Poem by Vision Ghost

Stepped in and my eyes, rose up to the golden scenery
A serenade had already begun, in earnest now so sweetly
As was this taste of the red wine, teasing upon my palate
Handed to me by a silver tray and graced me, oh so polite

Crystal cut of Edinburgh texture, touch traced the pattern
Widest hall of this banquette, that is a feast most certain
An atmosphere inhaled, and felt and, they all twirl around
The guessing game of who I am about? Is now so abound

Keeping suspense rising, like bubbles on champagne lips
Playwright courtship as are hats, lowered in majestic tips
To astound and bewilder, in the dancing of many colours
Physical encapsulation gestured, in swaying manoeuvres

Such politics so founded, in the mystery of identification
Only the raging passions, sought the eyes of classification
As the bodies bend, and their so united in simplistic touch
Tempered with the hearts, that beat the orchestra so much

A carillon, a waltz, or a perhaps now a seductive concerto
To build expectations of heat, or sense of lust from below
A napoleon warms the soul, from the glass held by rings
Upon fingers from knuckles to nails, as my throat stings

A costume adorned upon me, in black and purple and red
Facial recognition hidden, by a gold mask upon my head
Velvet shirt with strings to hide my chest, before leather
Observing as they take partners hands high, in such waver

Of resistance against knowledge, of who they are and why
Only the subtle sign of the instinctive behaviours, doth spy
Taste of this amber heat as I inhale, then curl my mild cigar
My finger over its length, as they change to a Spanish guitar

So it is a few debark, to secret rooms for a private endeavour
For me I am calm, as I know this night tonight is for forever
My eye spots right as I am approached, by this inquisitiveness
Curves motion as her costume displays, assets of a seductress

Equally as dark, as that her temptations are not in any doubt
Though the red of her mask, doesn’t hide a devil that will out
The last evaporation of this fine brandy, drips down my throat
Taking my cigar to replace with her breast, as her lips promote

Soft and yet intriguing in this a kiss, and a sudden excitement
Exhaling as my arm finds her body firm, in this appointment
Drawing me away from this room, and to somewhere outside
To the lake beyond this mansion, and leaving nothing to hide

As she disrobes and reveals a figure, to stop the cause of time
Moving me to take off my shirt, and initiate this wordless mime
As we both stand naked and perfect, under this blanket of night
She turns to enter the cooling water, and submerges her plight

I enter behind and embrace the chill, yet resolved by her body
As we enwrap and embrace, kissing tongues of our own melody
Yet masks remain, as identities yield mystery as, I enter into her
Sense of longing is witnessed, as is so released by her wild spur

Held tight, as she seems almost afraid to let go, intimately I hold
Quickening as passions heighten, to near exposure in the cold
We try to remain secret to passers by, unawares of our embrace
Almost loosing the control, as the fury within and hearts race

Nothing left distinctive, as in our eyes all we see is utter lust
Gripping her so close, and experiencing her body and her bust
Against my chest as we both, reach a point of no such return
Calming, breathing, close as though to kiss, yet it starts to burn

For drying naturally from heat endured, we return to the dance
To replenish my glass, but as I turn to enquire only by chance
She has vanished into the masses, and my eyes follow nothing
For no trail is left, and she is now lost in the collages dancing

For as masks did remain, I would recognise her less if without
As I never asked and nor did she; what good is a name to shout?
So now I sip this quality brandy, I am in now such a conclusion
That this experience is to remain, a memory of physical infusion

As is the mystery of my lover in the lake, for one evenings event
Of passion and release, within a perfected frame, does now lament
Her smell is still upon me, so maybe that would serve me so well
But it’s lost within the false fragrances, of so many as senses swell

Dry the evening has now become, that I now consider my departure
And so leave the final few revellers, to their dwindling debaucher
It all starts to fade into a drifting conclusion, of a softening ending
And so return to my thoughts, of the mystery of this very evening


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Langston Hughes

Dreams



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Poem Submitted: Tuesday, October 10, 2006

Poem Edited: Friday, October 15, 2010


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