Antebellum Moon

We go off like pistols
in the southern night.
It's seductive and gory,
these dreams we share
when we're both under
a tantalizing cocktail
of bourbon and chocolate.
Girl, your fingers are
so warm as they reach
for mine across the cool
tiled floor of the upstairs
lobby in your family's
hotel in the Garden District
of this sensual and
old-fashioned city.

Tonight was wild
with ivy wrapped
around our wrists and waists
like haunted sashes;
violin music played
by homeless poets
in the streets and
cherry cake frosting
on your tongue.

Girl, your birthday
was something that
I'll never forget;
all those hours of
dancing with orange blossoms
braided in our hair,
sweet rebellion coursing
through our vintage veins.

Girl, this is more than
anyone could have imagined;
our parents,
our friends,
never saw it coming;
this attraction,
this passion,
tangled with notes of jazz.

Now you're spread out
on the vanilla balcony,
sipping daintily from
a bronze bottle of
bourbon sunsets
and staring at
the decaying heavens
with an absentminded
expression on your face.
"Tonight's the end of
this antebellum girl,"
you say quietly.
"I'm not going
to marry any old coot,
no matter what
my parents promised him."
Then you glance over at me
and smile sadly,
holding back nervous tears.
It's all for the sake of
freedom that
we do this.

Mississippi burning;
new age heroine,
girl, you're ravishing.
It's more than
a teasing moon
lighting up our night,
doused in champagne,
all covered in velvet.

You're not what I expected,
not what I was hoping for
when I stepped down
from that carriage
parked in front of your house.
But I don't need a picture to
brand you to memory.
Girl, your name will always
ring in my ears;
a good luck charm,
a forbidden rhyme,
whispering of
summers on the bayou;
moss breezes,
heron cries.

Turn into a gun, girl,
and break this skin.
Get beneath the surface
of lace expectations,
steal my breath with
your olive green stare;
hypnotic yet real.

I've had enough
of these games,
socialite parties.
I want something
I can touch,
not just wish upon.
Can you be that;
my seaport star,
fingers that will
caress my cheek
whenever I have
nightmares about
childhood dolls
coming to life
and people with
X's for eyes?
Girl, you're
my friend but
why not more?
How long do we have
to stay trapped in
this racist
black and white world?

I'm done with this charade
of pretending to feel such
superficial things.
I want a spell that'll
make you embrace
the blurred lines
between us,
that'll make you
scare the quivering
sun into submission.

Girl, now help me out.
Let me know if you
want to be with me,
not just on some
luxurious staircase
in front of people
but in private, as well.
Or would you rather
just let it all go,
floating down the river
like some cursed lily
or a goodbye note,
making it easier
for us to move on?

I'm not waiting
another evening
because you're
not the only one
wishing the moon
would come down
and brand your
lips with her
trailer park kiss.