strangely
sitting sipping mist through a straw
a transparent straw
made almost opaque by water droplets
in suspension passing through
she sat at the open winter window
sitting sipping tactile misty moisture
little sips and little by little
solidity lost her
her outline fading
but the blank pages of a note-book
open on the window-sill
like developing photographs
filled with sharpening print
lines and paragraphs
chapter and verse
gaining definition the more she
turned diaphanous
until as last the open window
was breathing wispy water vapour
over an abandoned novel of suspense
an open book ink still wet
left in limbo
a symbol of transparency
2.
incensed
her eyes closed she stood
before me
behind her
a featureless wall covered in
what looked like scaled skin
bringing out the smoothness
of her own bare skin
covered only in a swirling tattoo
showing a rain-dragon curled
around and around her body
colours shimmered evoking
the impression that her body
was tattooed on that
of a rain-dragon but when
she opened her eyes
I stared into translucent crystal globes
filled with luminescent vapour
smoke where there was fire
her nostrils hinted at flame
she opened her mouth and breathing in
she breathed me in
smoke
to replenish what swirled in her eyes
with my burning desire
3.
hookah-hoe
when I said I needed a hookah
the man running errands misunderstood
and returned leading by the hand
a girl whose black black hair
seemed to rise up from her shoulders
like smoke spat out by a fire
when climbing a hill
her dusky skin too was smokily reminiscent
of surfacing heat
I went without a hookah
but
(proof that those were different days)
we both had a cigarette
afterwards
by Levi Wagenmaker
Levi Wagenmaker (1944 - ) is a retired journalist, living between the Netherlands
and France, with three bitches, two of whom are dogs. Enamoured life-long with languages he writes poetry in English only. His poems have been published on line and in print.
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