Marilyn and I!

The Caress! I felt her dreamy eyes,
a twinkle in the blue wash
at the French window near my heart.
She the one, a Norma Jeane,
framed in her virgin flight,
smiling behind the gloss of
stainless glass. Goodnight,
her whisper a lavender whiff.

Norma! I hushed onto the
mist from her breath on the pane,
before I touched her finger
for a fleeting pulse; life's brewing dear.
Yeah, she let me blot wine
from her parted lips,
naughty; red from love,
black-and-white by birth.

Twelve! her soul opened
in my dream, in a skewed
sequence, one each through
the dozen ports of bliss my
host, the rolling stone,
gifted beside a warm bed
in his penthouse world
of cars, books and pals.

Marilyn! Indeed I cried;
for she faded as the shallow
quick sighs of Cupid turned deep;
a slumber near the queen, whose
knights left her squinting at the
selective lights of a silver world;
and prone to the sedative pains
of that mansion between dunes.

(An Ode to Norma Jeane; a tribute to Marilyn Monroe! Special thanks to my pal Sid for letting me peek into those twelve, strategically placed, time portals.)