Romenace

   

            I shall raise a toast, an old fashioned
                 of whiskey and angostura;
           Today, enough mad and passionate,
                 I know the scent of Datura.

           The tenth sip down, my teeth cold
                 I sense the caress of a ghost;
           Each thought bundled into a fold,
                 for a dream I serve as a host.

            I have this tendency, this quirk
                 of loving each and every apparition;
            Graham Greene once mark’d,
                 “you cannot love without intuition.”

             Between the lines, can you hear
                  me slurring not too wise;
             In an attempt to have you near,
                  I lay scribble in your eyes.

             Smell of fresh coffee, from the bar
                  wakes me up to hurl;
             What a stupendous dream you are,
                  I feel my heart unfurl!