At the Rokerij

 

That kiss just outside

the speakeasy

left me speechless.

 

It was dark inside, lit by candles,

and the heavy door, as an ancient time portal,

shut snug when we were ushered in.

 

I remember the way you looked at me,

and all the things you whispered,

sitting there caressing

my sandaled foot.

 

Afterward,

when we were left alone

to climb the hidden stair,

 

your hands were warm

and the stones cool

against my back.

 

You’ve always known what to say

and how to say it to me,

with your eyes dark,

glittering, cerulean coins—

 

and still now, in the corridor

to the dragon’s lair,

milky smoke rising from your nostrils,

 

leading me, willing sacrifice

in white velvet,

to everyday heaven.

 

 

© 2024 Jennifer Wagner

 

dVerse OLN

 

When you kiss the same guy for 26 years, and still want to.

Sigh Lens

 

Chattahoochee River

Photo © 2024 Jennifer Wagner

 

Wild horses and burros

roam back home

grazing on fireland.

 

But, iced tea in her hand,

Grandma would say,

Come, sit a spell.

 

And that’s just what I

intend to do,

 

sweet tea,

 

with you.

 

 

© 2024 Jennifer Wagner

 

 

For Mary’s prompt at What’s Going On?  Silence.

 

I used “sit,” but my grandma said, “set,” in her sweet Missourian way (which she also pronounced, “Mi-zur-uh”).