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Overnight

the funicular creaks and crunches against the rails
up and up the mountain slope
the sheer height and fall to instant death
and our laughing high on the summit

the Gasthaus served soup
olives, bread, sweet potatoes, spiced pork
beer in phial-like glasses
the sharp syrup tang of it through froth
would we stay the night under the eaves?
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Wednesday, August 26, 2020
Topic(s) of this poem: sensual
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6/24/2021 1:19:46 AM # 1.0.0.632