National Poetry Month

 It must be Monterey

In my perfume dance apricots,
this scent waves in the air like sea grass in the tide I’m pulled out to
17 Mile Drive, Pebble Beach, Highway 1.
Behind every twist and turn, on every cliff and bluff reflections of the suns diamonds jazz inches above the water where pelicans fly.
The Arctic cold wind whips off the ocean threatening to steer us off course.
Salty sea spray and fine needle-like mist pierce sweaters, as if Poseidon himself is waging a war. But with a two hour bubble bath and a fireplace melting bodies embrace,
weapons to ward off the cold rapping at the door.
Jewels of mouth-melting calamari and 22-million-dollar-rich chocolate moose at Lovers Point, Latitude. It never smelled so expensive.
The journey leads to underwater ballets:
elasmobranch chassé,
echinoderm plié,
teleost grand jeté.
Shadows form the setting sun join the ensemble, pass over our feet, across the floor,
and escort us to the dark depths of the ocean’s night.
Like folding rainbows embroidered with stars, creatures begin to dance like on Broadway.
Je suis danse avec le noirceur sens propre jusqua aurora.

 

Nicole Carr

~ by cozet on April 3, 2007.