106: Doppelganger?

a poem

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Doppelganger?

AGE 21 - Rural New York

In Heaven there’s a girl who sings sweet arias at dawn.
I saw her on a stormy night, with my Venetians drawn.
She glimmered in the lamplight: in the fresco, in my book.
I set aside my reading glasses for a clearer look.

That frock of wool could not contain her! Captions writ in Greek
caressed her creamy visage; gave her shoulder blades mystique.
Her haunch and breasts stood in proportion (as her hair stood still)
and as I gandered, night winds landed leaves upon my sill.

The eyes of that enchantress burned exceptionally brightly!
The daylit plaster (on the wall surrounding) yellowed slightly.
Thereafter, I sought Providence through sexual redemption —
the comfort of attentive limbs, and breath too sweet to mention.

Thenceforth as I should wander, all too often I mistook
at second glance, some woman for the goddess in my book.
You came upon me watching one (as evening lingered late)
then tapped my shoulder, turned me round, and promptly set me straight:

‘ Pay no attention to the singing girl atop the hill !
She’s promised to a man unknown (for know him, no one will)
yet she adores him so, and can discern his features clearly.
Her heart grows fonder in his absence: momently, and yearly.

The only thing she’ll tell you, should perchance you catch her eye,
is that she must keep true to him… then wave a vague “goodbye”
and (looking down into the dirt) depress her windblown skirt,
and pull the hem beneath the knee… to cover up her thigh. ’

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