I remember pulling her down to calico
starched and unbleached, yet o’ so tender
once more than twice atop the expanse
we sprawled, with nary a gesture save a nod
in the others direction
Save me now, I would save you then
with simple impressions, monographs
painted essential you, I’d sign every one
dedicated to what we christened each day – your being
© Chagall 2014
You are
a thousand percent
correct.
No other
woman,
holy or not,
would say that,
I absolutely
agree.
How funny
was that
though?
© Chagall 2013
A hollow tube
filled with tones
and stars.
Icy blue
at the edge.
Nothing but
stars.
An expansive dome
shone with star-tone.
Dearest One,
Tonight tender doom?
No question!
Your Dear,
Dominique
© Chagall, 2013
Long pulls and strokes
of her hard brush,
smoothed the way
for curls
and throaty incantations.
Her aromas cleave
me at center,
I am tinged at my fringes
by her scents.
These remain
the strongest trigger,
the fastest way back
to a time. So it was
a chance to be sexy,
poetic and smart.
All good things
rolled into one.
A black
tie-dye
event.
A time
for dahlias, pepper silks,
and arced backs,
for running lights
and rubbing curves
the wrong way.
© Chagall, 2013
Alphabet City 