Eating Pears on the Rooftop

David Estringel

Let us eat green pears—
at night on the rooftop
under burdened boughs of the old yew
and the moon’s pale glow.
Let us love
and laugh at myths and shadow-plays
born of sticks and stones
and celestial light—
the stuff of illusion
that pulls us far from the cold comfort
of home.
There, the close confines of our rooms lie, prepared,
untouched by the deceits of night and day–
and pure.
O, to be with you in the dark
(boundlessness within those walls)
behind thick curtains of rich brown and verdant green–
that glorious place of undiscerning Truth,
where glamours crumble to dust
(to dust).
To this
we say, “Yes! Yes! Yes!”
and kiss the silver—sticky and sweet–
from each other’s lips,
each soft brush
a rap on the front door.

*Originally published at Cajun Mutt Press

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