Melting Clocks

Alone in the dark

An ice strewn Austrian tundra

beats your picket fenced white house

says who

whispers she

says me

bellows he

And so it goes

those endless dream nights atop the pillow

when melting clocks

invade pages of pinned butterflies

Up there beneath dusty cobweb corners

where shiny Buster Brown shoes of yesteryear

succumb to an attic-baked cracking of today

trapped memories hold vigil over

open cigar boxes of prized decoder rings

and crystal radio intrigues

The latest then

The oldest now

A Jack Armstrong comic book

astride the beloved Lionel train tracks

now but a figure eight

absent cars

absent pipe cleaner passengers

lamenting exotic travel

across Erector Set bridges

past Log Cabin stations

through paper mache tunnels

wide vistas of painted rock sunsets

Still oohing

Still aahing

Once again sitting here now

eyeball to eyeball

while my memory-laden hand roams

beneath our table’s checkered cloth

I smile

You giggle

My other liver-splotched hand

grips my Paris souvenir glass

half empty of caramel colored dream juice

compliments Tennessee’s bottled black and white genie

All the while

my mouth gapes at the ready

as your manicured slender fingers

seductively tease with

tonight’s forked pieces of steak

while remnant sounds of Pratt and Whitney

hum from your lips

Red Barron’s brazen loops on high

meet my persuasive climbs from below

the rat tat tat tat of 50 millimeter pleasure

making smoked trails behind once more

as I chew yet another memory

to feed my insatiable slavery of swallows

Alone in the dark

Through gauze filtered journeys

we visit our attic wastelands

those fate determined canvases

not yet dry of oils

The satiate of YES whispers she

The voracious appetite of FOREVER bellows he

Melting clocks

still ticking