Swamp Music

                      for that boy, in that band

There’s a tingling riff
somewhere in that second verse
and suddenly I’m

knock-kneed, in that base
line bumping your thump thumping
here, in the corner at the café

where I do my morning steep,
sweeten and sip oh         so         slow

still, a burn on my
tongue – unsassuageable like
that night in the swamplands…

thirsty whiskey eyes,
your fingertips, the chasm
they just wouldn’t jump

steel-string rugged – graze over
these honey-rubbed, dark-rum thighs

for as long as your
conscience allows you to endulge

you could reach the other side
or drop down deep, far from home

Either way there’s no
chance of you landing up right

you ought to just jump
across fast and with purpose.

                 2013 ("Groupies" revised)