Tuesday, September 16, 2008

With Sundae Spoons

Margarita Margarita come my dear, come, come, there is hope for you yet. Come into the light, come into science and daydreams and pots that call kettles black and MEAN it. Come into me, come into love, come into infinity. Come into cake and tea and festoons and ribbons. Come into salsa music and cocaine and parties that last 'til dawn. Come into rapture.

I miss you oh my Margarita, the way your hair twirls black and flimsy 'round your ears, the way the sky seems to look down at you questioningly, trying to guess what you are. I wonder where you are, whether you're floating on icebergs made of grape juice, floating on clouds made of tinsel and cellophane, floating on waves made of oxygen and fish, quick as queens, fast as furies. Digging in mines for buttons, for monocles, for the perfect note to finish that SONG. Where?

When you come back, all will be roses, all will be birds and cotton candy and beautiful. We will practice our waltzes, we will keep time on the table, we will eat time with a fork and a knife and a sundae spoon. Ice cream deserves whipped topping, you deserve a thousand kisses and a gift wrapped in solid gold paper. You deserve old-fashioned radios, water from Tahiti, wine from Belgrade or Serbia. I do not deserve you.

Margarita, Kitten, Lion, Master of all, Master of me. Put yourself in an envelope, par avion, come to me.


Part of stream of consciousness project, written in about six minutes, September 16 2008. Fun!:)