BLUE MOON

My vicious muses were clad in pastel vintage dresses today

dozing in the cradle of my mind

high on substance and depth

as Elvis’ voice soothes their frantic nerves

as if it were Sunday morning and they’re sucking its aurora

like caramel pacifiers on their overwrought merlot lips

my voluptuous heart undulates, purrs like Marilyn

with butterfly eyelashes fluttering

in sync with my typewriter’s clicks sounding like bees buzzing

as these hands drip the words dipped in honey and lime

into a piece with the flavour that of classic creams and pies

My sun drunk old soul is swiveling on the phonograph

with a needle on my tongue in helical grooves

taking turns between sipping my twinings tea and licking the blue moon—

Oh, I drool!

The melodies disperse and fly like smoke in the air,

my spirits are giggling

as I drift and float and sink in my vintage euphoria