Driving down a dark,
desert highway, with
the wind blowing my
dark hair,

pastels, charcoal, and
sketchpads to spare.

Checking into
Hotel California,
she has pink champagne
on ice,
the conscierge gives me some
message advice.

"She left a message for you
at the desk.  I memorized it
from her sweet lips."

I tipped the conscierge a
C-note and took two
champagne sips,
tossed the bubbles down.

Closed the lavender curtains,
set up my easel in the shadow,
mirrors on the ceiling put my
pastels aglow,

Charcoal turned into
flame, the words came
in encaustic sparks,
"She's married." the
conscierge's message
resonated.

Inspiration flames licked
down upon me, the mirrors
blazing in hot oranges and
reds, I sketched the real
deal, the merging of two
Queen-size beds.

I left one glass of champagne,
the words came in eternal
choice, the conscierge's
voice, the message resonated,
"You can check out anytime you like,
but you can never leave."

 

Copyright 2006 Sage Sweetwater, firebrand lesbian novelist, brainchild of Sage Sweetwater Creative Properties, flagship of Stone Creek Woman