1 New Poem

Other Intoxicants

I don't know if ever you noticed

my recoiling from touch, when
I thought about embrace, sweeping of

feet over thresholds of picket fence places,

stove-hot reflex set apart for us.

Let from youthful ventures too, hat pin

prick suffocating childhood amusements,

it seemed a cause settling between us;

never needed a noisy dance floor to feel lonely,

never needed these Hollywood loves.

But, oh, to drink of your polished

poison, bitter flower fruit, names

in handwritten script on Waterford crystal;

I should call it the marvel of rare spirit,

swallowed, caution lacking, enthused as I manage.