By Morgan O’Donnell
It was supposed to be coffee, friendly,
just a chat between colleagues, club members.
Then she shifted the universe, altered reality,
asking about adult drinks instead.
The message on my screen dared conspire.
Her words “adult drinks” emblazoned on my mind
and I knew I was flirting with fire.
Too late, too soon, her call stirred that murky water.
My alter ego sleeping just beneath the surface
tempted by fate, the taste of the sea,
emerged, dripping like a newborn goddess
remembering how to fall into sky blue eyes.
An ordinary conversation, an extraordinary conversation.
Her breath filled the space between us at the pub
that space in which battles are fought, lost and won.
Another paradise waiting in the wings, waiting to fall.
Between glasses filled with ambrosia and honey
I heard the whisper of possibility,
a lifetime of listening to rhythm and meter
waiting for that unstressed syllable – the feminine caesura.
Morgan’s musings on nature, poetry, writing, and the search for a sustainable life can be found at Red Raven Circling: redravencircle.wordpress.com.