that night was full of absinthe and strange times
convoluted within a mind looping
around itself, never to be recalled
directly but by forensics and brave
anecdotes shared by some who testify
to its lunatic adventures. inside,
you smoked your herbal chemistry, laughing
stonily over everything, while we
outside soaked sugar cube sacrifices
and poured icy water into emerald
creating clouds of inebriation . . .
then the stripping of clothes, the howl and dance
of the bacchanal, virgin moon bleeding,
somehow become my bride by morning’s light.
David M Pitchford
10 oct 2011