Mont Orgueill
We walked around Mont Orgueilland how the wind blew
I was blue with cold
and you rolled
as the wind buffeted
around turrets
and things.
We stood in the gallery
looked at pictures
and wax figures
hard to think
those were the days
and these
were ours.
There are snapshots,
curios,
weird things
like a pack of tarot
I called up the hangman
you the sun.
The wind still blows
at Mont Orgueill
I held a wedding there
last weekend
as the gales
blew in from the sea
It was grey glass
and the spume
dampened hair
The merry couple laughed
and the wax figures
waned
I think moth
had got in their costumes
or perhaps the weather
made them despondent?
I nearly recommended
a cedar wood chest
no holes in their vests;
but my heart was buffeted
by a lingering memory
of a kiss on the turret
So long ago
in another lifetime
Poetry by Elle
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Written on 2009-07-24 at 22:16
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